


Morgaine's Thread

by LilRinnieB



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blackmail, Forced Bonding, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilRinnieB/pseuds/LilRinnieB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry understood the dangers to himself when he broke magical law to save Snape's life, but he didn't realize that Snape would end up returning the favour that same night with unexpected consequences. Now Snape wants compensation for his "injuries" and the wave of popularity he has suffered as a result. Harry has to decide if he's willing to risk his heart as readily as he risked his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Przędza Morgany](https://archiveofourown.org/works/934649) by [selen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/selen/pseuds/selen)



> Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work.
> 
> Warnings: AU (no HBP or DH), some violence, and forced bonding. (I'll put additional warnings in the notes of every chapter as they come up.)

 

          "First hall to the right, second staircase to the left," Harry muttered.

          He knelt on the floor just inside the doorway of a dark, empty classroom, huddled under his invisibility cloak with his lit wand in one hand and the Marauder's Map in the other, carefully navigating a route through the castle to the lower dungeons. The name Bellatrix Lestrange floated over the yellowed parchment not far from the statue of the one-eyed witch, only two corridors down from where Harry had stopped to get his bearings, but it was another name, motionless from the time he'd first opened the map, that filled Harry's heart with fear.

          "Move, you stubborn bastard," he said, nudging the name with his wand as if he could somehow prod its owner into action, but Severus Snape remained where he was, rooted to a hallway in the lower dungeons, the very place Harry was trying to reach.

_First hall to the right, second staircase to the left,_ he repeated to himself, waiting until Bellatrix had moved further away before he stuck the map in his trouser pocket, stepped out of his hiding place and ran along the pitch-black hallway in the direction he'd chosen as the safest, quickest way to get to Snape. He prayed the staircases didn't change on him in the meantime.

          The infiltration of Death Eaters into Hogwarts, first spotted by Nearly Headless Nick on the third floor, had come to light just as the students were getting ready for bed. Professor McGonagall had gathered Harry and his fellow Gryffindors in the common room with strict orders to stay inside. It was more experience than ego that brought Harry to the conclusion that he was the real target of the attack, and he'd pulled out the Marauder's Map so he could see which of Voldemort's followers had been sent this time. He hadn't expected to see Snape's name frozen in place on the parchment. Fearing the worst, he'd impetuously decided to conduct his own search and rescue. His cloak made it easy for him to sneak out unnoticed during the chaos following McGonagall's announcement, and his map allowed him to avoid his enemies while plotting the best path to take through the castle.

 

 

 

          His reasons for disobeying the rules and running headlong into danger were more personal than what Hermione deemed his 'hero complex.' It had started in his sixth year during a chance detention that had included re-labelling all the specimen jars in Snape's office by hand. Snape had demanded that Harry's penmanship be perfect, making him write out the labels again and again until Harry's fingers were cramping. The arrival of a Slytherin in search of Snape to break up a fight in their house's common room had given Harry a moment's reprieve, and he'd taken advantage of the time alone to explore the room while his fingers recovered.

          Snape's office hadn't afforded much entertainment, but a stack of textbooks half-hidden beneath a long, black cloak on Snape's desk had served as a momentary distraction. The books had all been related to Potions, of course, except for a volume on Ancient Wizarding History that featured a stern rendition of Merlin's face as its cover illustration, enchanted so that the famous wizard's eyes would follow you around the room in a disturbing, paranoia-inducing way. Harry had cracked open the history book out of sheer, restless boredom, but it was what he'd found _between_ the pages that truly caught his attention. Wedged between chapters on the Arthurian Age and the Wizarding Renaissance had been a photograph of a young Snape, aged sixteen or seventeen, at what had appeared to be a Slytherin Yule celebration, a jaunty paper crown smashed down on his head and his face occasionally obscured by the dark hair of the male classmate he was snogging.

          There had been something so mesmerising about watching a teenage Snape shove his tongue into another boy's mouth that Harry had found himself pocketing the photograph when the sound of footsteps on stone had alerted Harry to the adult Snape's return. On his way back to the dormitory that night, he'd told himself he nicked the photo to show to his friends so they could all have a good laugh at Snape's expense, but in the end he never showed it to anyone else, not even Ron. Over time, he'd found himself studying the way Snape's fingers slid across the boy's shoulders, up his neck and into his thick, dark hair, imagining he could hear Snape's moans as the boy's hand would disappear mysteriously beyond the bottom edge of the photo. In less than a week, he went from merely watching the two boys to mentally inserting himself into the picture as Snape's partner, and his imagination had taken off from there.

          A photograph, that's how it began, that strange infatuation with Snape that had taken hold of Harry's thoughts, haunting him through the rest of his sixth year. When Harry had requested to spend the summer at Grimmauld Place, it had been Snape who grudgingly watched over him between bouts of spying and potion-making, and Harry's feelings had grown without him even realising what was happening. It was incredible, _impossible_ , and if Sirius had been alive to witness it, he would have yanked Harry out of the country altogether in a bid to weed out those feelings before they took solid root. As it was, Harry's feelings had been allowed to run rampant, and what had started out as harmless teenage lust mellowed into something deep and serious.

          By the beginning of his seventh year, he'd admitted to his friends that he was gay, but his humiliating feelings for Snape were still a secret, more out of a need to preserve his ego than out of fear of what his friends might think. It hadn't been a happy revelation, after all -- even if Snape hadn't been twice Harry's age and his professor, there was the undeniable fact that Snape despised Harry. Trelawney herself couldn't have predicted a more doomed first love for him.

 

 

 

          So here he was, dodging shadows as he made his way swiftly and silently to the lower levels of the castle, intent on finding Snape. He wasn't looking forward to telling Ron and Hermione why he'd gone off without them on this particular adventure, but it was probably time to come clean. Hermione kept trying to set him up with that cute Hufflepuff sixth year who turned lobster red every time he passed Harry in the hallway.

_A year ago, I would have jumped at the chance to let Hermione play matchmaker_ , he thought with a rueful smile. He eased his way down a narrow, spiral staircase that led into the lower dungeons. He was almost there ...

          Harry smelled the blood before he ever saw any sign of Snape.

          The pungent, coppery scent hung so thickly in the air that Harry could taste its bitterness on his tongue. He looked down at the map again, hoping to find that he'd read it wrong, but he could see his own name hovering beside the south entrance to the lower dungeons with Snape's name remaining stationary just around the corner, the same place it had been when Harry first started this search. Was it his imagination, or was the inky black of Snape's name growing greyer and greyer?

_Pull yourself together, Potter._ He folded the map and took a deep breath, at the same time snuffing out the faint glow of his _Lumos_ spell since this area of the dungeons remained lit by torchlight. There were no Death Eaters on this level of the castle according to his map, so he had a very good chance of getting Snape out of there without having to fight anyone. It all depended on how badly Snape was hurt.

          "Snape, if you can hear me, do us both a favour and don't curse me when I come around the corner," he called out. The snort of derision he heard in reply was all it took to put the speed back in his feet. He sprinted the last few feet to Snape's location, pulling off his cloak as he went.

          Snape sat propped up against the wall like a discarded doll. His shirt and trousers had been slashed into tatters, presumably by the same spell that led to his incapacitation, and the blood seeping from the gashes on his chest and legs was dripping onto the floor and creating a warm, wet puddle beneath him. A ring of blood around his lips painted his mouth a startling crimson, a vibrant splash of colour against his sallow skin.

          "Come to save the day, have you?" Snape asked with a sneer before a coughing fit seized him, expelling a fine red mist from his mouth with each violent hack.

          "Just shut up for once in your life and let me help you," Harry said as he rushed to Snape's side. He discarded his cloak and the map on the floor next to Snape and started casting healing spells on Snape's wounds, but the gashes didn't close.

          "You can't play hero this time, Potter," Snape said with a crooked smile, but his taunt lacked its usual bite. "The Dark Lord has personally seen to my destruction."

          Harry lowered his wand. He'd seen plenty of Death Eaters' names on the map as he searched for Snape, but he hadn't noticed Voldemort among them. Maybe he was able to cloak himself from detection by certain magical artefacts? "Voldemort is inside Hogwarts? How?"

          "My brilliant theory is that someone let him in." Snape tried to push himself into a more comfortable position but soon gave up with a groan. "I would have given the matter more thought but I've selfishly allowed my impending death to distract me."

          "What curse did he use? Is there a counterspell?"

          "He deemed the Killing Curse too merciful a death for me. I believe I'm meant to drown in my own blood." Snape knocked Harry's hand away when Harry continued to cast ineffectual healing spells on him. "Those won't work, Potter. Save your energy."

          "I won't let you die," Harry said with a conviction that defied all logic, refusing to accept that now, when it mattered the most, both his hope and his luck would run dry.

          Snape gave Harry a look that bordered on pity, the kindest expression he'd ever shown him. "You don't have a choice."

          "There's always a choice," Harry insisted, already mentally thumbing through every protection spell he'd ever learned, every healing spell, every footnote on life and death and how to prolong one or prevent the other. He could vaguely recall a few lectures Snape had given on the subject in Potions, but lately Harry had been more interested in the sound of Snape's voice than the actual words he'd been speaking, and it wasn't as if he had his cauldron handy to whip up an antidote anyway.

_Hermione would have thought of ten different solutions by now_ , Harry thought, a tad bitterly. Of course, Hermione's head was full of the future these days, planning the sort of wedding ceremony she wanted to have with Ron and whether she wanted to keep it traditional or go the route of a magical bond ...

_That's it._ A giddy laugh escaped Harry's lips before he could contain it. Why hadn't he thought of this sooner? He didn't need Hermione's expertise this time. He knew a way to save Snape's life -- a highly dangerous, completely criminal way, but since when had Harry ever shied away from reckless behaviour? He remembered Sirius once telling him that the risks only made the reward that much sweeter, and he tended to agree with that philosophy, never more so than when the reward involved keeping Snape alive.

          "I don't have the strength to slap you if you're going to act hysterical," Snape said sourly, referring to Harry's odd laughter, "so I suggest you pull yourself together." His words were coming slower now, his breathing shallow and laboured. Harry would have to act quickly.

          "I'm not hysterical," he said, a calm confidence in his voice as his Gryffindor mentality kicked in. He took Snape's left hand and touched the tip of his wand to Snape's palm. "This is going to sting."

          "I'll be sure to distinguish your little sting from the overall agony I've been feeling up to this moment."

          Harry ignored the snark and slowly moved his wand tip over Snape's skin, magically cutting into the flesh as he traced a winding path over his palm that left a beautiful but bloody design in its wake. He studied his handiwork with a critical eye once he finished, gave a quick nod of his head when the results satisfied him, then reached for Snape's right hand to give it the same treatment. Snape brought his left hand up to his face while Harry worked on the right one, squinting his eyes as he examined what Harry had done to him.

          "This is ... some kind of brand?" Snape seemed to be having trouble getting a clear look at the design carved into his hand, not only because of his failing health but also due to the blood seeping from the wound. "It looks familiar, but ... what possible purpose could this..."

          He froze, staring at his palm in disbelief before slowly looking up at Harry. " _Morgaine's Thread_?"

          "I've always thought it was a funny name for a bonding spell." Harry pushed up the sleeve of his own robe so he could use his wand to form a small cut on his arm, massaging and squeezing the surrounding area to bring more blood to the surface.

          "Potter, _Morgaine's Thread_ is dark, dangerous magic. By binding your life to mine, you risk sharing in my fate."

          "Or I could save you from that fate." Harry dipped his finger into the blood welling on his arm and leaned forward, raising his hand to Snape's forehead.

          "Don't be daft," Snape hissed, weakly shoving at Harry's chest and leaving two bloody handprints on his clothes. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

          Harry pushed Snape back against the wall before drawing a line of runes on Snape's forehead with the blood from his arm. "It's the strongest bond there is."

          "It's _illegal_. Even if I gave you permission, which I _don't_ , you would still be guilty of breaking magical law. The Dark Arts are always punished severely, regardless of intent. The last known wizard to use this spell received the Kiss. Is that what you want?"

          "I don't think this is the proper time for a snog, sir." Harry cut the same symbols into his own hands that he'd drawn on Snape's hands, careful to cut deep enough to draw a good deal of blood but not so deep that the blood loss would rob him of his concentration. He looked up at Snape with a cheeky grin that masked his nervousness. "Ask me later?"

          "This spell could kill you, Potter. I won't let you --"

          "Fighting me will only make this harder on both of us," Harry said, taking hold of Snape's hands so the bleeding wounds on their palms touched. He met Snape's fury head-on, his bold grin hardening into a grim smile. "You and I are going to bond, whether you like it or not. You're dying anyway -- what have you got to lose?"

          "I have _everything_ to lose if you succeed," Snape growled.

          Harry's eyes narrowed. Did Snape hate him so much that he preferred death to being connected to Harry? "I know it's a forced bond, but we can get rid of it after you've recovered."

          Snape's brow furrowed in confusion -- or pain, Harry couldn't be sure which -- and he looked ready to continue their argument further, but Harry interrupted him.

          "Look at me," he said, unable to physically force Snape to meet his eyes while their hands were joined. When he spoke the spell, he needed to be connected to Snape in as many ways as possible. Maintaining eye contact would help Harry form the bond faster, and it would also give him a stronger connection to hold onto at the moment of crisis. "Look into my eyes."

          Snape scowled and looked away, his head lolling listlessly to the side.

          "No, you have to look at me," Harry said, his voice cracking for the first time as his confidence faltered and panic set in. He didn't need Snape to be a willing participant for this spell to work, but without constant eye contact a powerful wizard could resist a forced bond for hours before succumbing. Harry didn't have any time to waste on waiting for Snape to give in. He clenched their hands together tightly, feeling the warm spurt of blood between their joined palms. "Look at me, damn you!"

          Snape winced and glared at Harry. "Should you really be bullying a dying man?"

          "When he's being a stubborn git? Yes. Be quiet so I can get this right."

          He held Snape's eyes with his own as he spoke the words of the ritual, his voice steady despite his frazzled nerves. He'd memorized the spell after discovering it in an ancient grimoire in the restricted section of the library near the beginning of his sixth year. Losing Sirius had shaken him to the core, so he had decided to find a spell that he could use to protect his friends, a "last resort" method of keeping Ron and Hermione alive. _Morgaine's Thread_ , a bond so powerful that it could pull someone back from death, had been the perfect solution. There hadn't been much information on the spell other than its strength and how to perform it -- and that it had been outlawed for centuries -- but Harry had rationalized that saving his friends' lives would be worth a stay in Azkaban for performing a forced bond.

          As he approached the end of the ritual, he was well prepared for the burning sensation in his palms, though the constriction in his chest caught him off guard. When he spoke the final word of the spell, " _Arakalë_ ," it was with the quiet authority of a wizard confident in his craft, not the tremulous uncertainty of a novice who just happened to recall a spell he'd memorized on a lark.

          "You sound as if you've done this before," Snape accused, a suspicious glint in his eyes, but his voice was remarkably softer, not only in volume but in pitch as well, and Harry felt Snape's magic flare and fade through their bond, like a wave rolling onto the shore then retreating back into the ocean.

          "I'm a quick study," Harry said.

          He placed his still-bleeding palm on Snape's chest over his heart. He would have to time this perfectly, but it was tough to concentrate when each slow, struggling beat of Snape's heart called out to Harry like a distress signal, an involuntary cry for help that he had to ignore. If Harry wanted to save Snape, he would have to watch him die first. He had never known pain like this, not when he'd seen Sirius fall through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, not even when reliving his parents' murders through the Dementors. It was as if the sun was setting for the last time, all the warmth of the world slowly consumed by the encroaching night, every second of sunlight made more precious because there would be no dawn. Harry wanted to be doing something more to fight off that darkness, to hold back the night for as long as he could, but instead he was forced to sit quietly by Snape's side, looking into his eyes, watching that keen black gaze grow dull and unfocused as Snape's injuries overtook him. Harry's hand trembled. What if he failed? What if he let Snape's life slip through his fingers?

          A rough, raspy chuckle startled Harry out of his anxious thoughts.

          "Afraid, Potter?" Snape laughed again, coughing with the effort, a thin line of blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. "Shouldn't ... I ... be the ... scared one?"

          "Don't talk," Harry said, pressing harder on Snape's chest as that stuttering heartbeat grew faint and elusive.

          "What about ... my last ... words?" Every breath Snape took now rattled in his throat, thick with blood, but he persisted in talking. "I have ... something ... to tell --"

          "You can tell me later, after I've saved your life."

          "This can't wait ... in case --"

          "If you distract me into letting you die, I will find a way to resurrect you just so I can kill you myself," Harry snapped.

          Snape mustered a look of outrage. "I am ... _trying_ ... to make a ... deathbed confession, Potter. If ... you would just ... shut that ... fool mouth of yours, I would ... tell you that --"

          Snape choked on his words and he grabbed at the front of Harry's robe, his eyes widening in alarm as he lost the battle to breathe. Harry braced one hand against the wall while he kept the other hand pressed against Snape's chest, concentrating on the erratic rhythm of his heart that was only a few beats away from stopping entirely.

          "Don't fight it," Harry said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I won't let you go, so you don't have to fight it. Let me do the fighting for you ..."

          Snape's fingers relaxed their hold on Harry's robe. _Tha-thump_. Their eyes met, and a resigned, bitter-sweet smile curved Snape's lips. _Tha-thump_. Harry felt their bond stretch tight, like a string pulled taut between them; if he failed, the threads of their bond would snap and Snape would be gone forever.

_Tha-thump._

          The silence that followed Snape's final heartbeat wrenched at Harry's own heart, the strain of their bond as Snape faded into death causing a physical pain in Harry's chest, but the bond was still there, wire-thin and fragile, keeping Snape well within his reach. This was what he'd waited for -- it would have to be now.

          " _Arakalë_ ," Harry said, his voice so forceful and commanding that he didn't recognize it as his own. Their connection deepened as he laid claim to Snape's life once again, spanning the void that widened between them now that Snape was crossing over into death. Harry latched onto that connection with his magic and his mind, feeling their bond within his grasp as surely as if steel-strong threads had been wound around his fingers. He pulled with all his might, fighting against the dark currents that wanted to drag him down into death along with Snape, hardly knowing if he would have the strength to rescue him but strangely content in the knowledge that whatever happened, they would be together.

          Just when it seemed he and Snape would be dragged into the abyss, Harry gave one final tug and that terrible gravity released its grip on them, Snape's chest surging against Harry's palm before he sagged back against the wall, limp but alive, his heart thumping a strong, steady beat. His first few breaths of air sounded like tortured gasps as his lungs sought their old in-and-out rhythm, but soon that desperate wheezing eased and Snape began taking deep, clear breaths. Harry quickly reached for his wand and began healing Snape's injuries, a task made much easier now that Voldemort's curse no longer repelled Harry's spells. His hand shook when he healed the slashes on Snape's leg, his strength deserting him, and he paused for a minute to catch his breath. He was both physically and magically exhausted from performing the bonding spell, but he hid his deteriorating condition behind a smug smile.

          "If you still want to make that deathbed confession, I'm all ears," he said, mocking Snape's belief that Harry wouldn't be able to save him. When Snape flashed him the inevitable glare, Harry was relieved to see that Snape's gaze retained its ice-cold sharpness, as dark and piercing as ever. "No, you're right, the moment has passed. Maybe someday -- far, far in the future -- you'll get another chance to make one."

          He used the sleeve of his robe to wipe the blood from Snape's mouth and chin. The bloody runes on Snape's forehead had disappeared once their bond was completed, but both Snape's and Harry's palms remained marked with the intricate crimson brands that signified _Morgaine's Thread,_ as if an invisible needle had embroidered the magical symbols into their flesh. It would take a heavy glamour to hide the brands, and Harry wasn't sure he could count on Snape to keep their new connection a secret, so he decided that the best course of action would be to tell Dumbledore the truth and hope for leniency.

          "You shouldn't try to move just yet." Harry draped the invisibility cloak over Severus. His shoes slid on the blood-slick floor as he stood up, and he steadied himself against the wall with one hand as he adjusted the cloak to cover every visible part of Snape's body. "Stay here and don't make a sound. The cloak will keep you hidden while I go find Dumbledore."

          Snape followed Harry's direction and stayed silent and motionless, unexpectedly obedient, but Harry decided Snape was probably just too tired to argue.

          Harry ran through the halls blindly at first, spurred on by adrenaline and a heady sense of success, but his brain soon caught up with his body and he slowed to a walk, reminding himself that there could be Death Eaters around every corner. He needed to check his map so he could pinpoint Dumbledore's location and plot the safest route to get to him.

_Oh gods, the map._

          Harry patted his pockets. Empty. He'd left the map behind with Snape. Any other night he would have shrugged it off as an inconvenience, but there were Death Eaters roaming these halls, so his little mistake had the potential to get him caught or killed. Knowing what he did about how Death Eaters treated their prisoners, Harry hoped for the latter.

          Where should he look first? The last he'd seen of Dumbledore had been a glimpse of him in the Great Hall directing the other teachers in a defence of the castle as Harry crept past them under his cloak. Members of the Order would be arriving soon, as well as all the Aurors the Ministry could spare, but Dumbledore needed to know that Voldemort himself had invaded Hogwarts and they had to be more cautious than ever until reinforcements arrived. With Snape incapacitated they'd lost one of their best duelers, and Harry was so weakened from performing the binding spell that a First Year could have disarmed him. He would be no match for a Death Eater, and as for Voldemort ...

          A sharp pain shot through his chest and Harry doubled over, stumbling into the wall. His hand flew to his forehead out of habit, his body naturally linking thoughts of Voldemort to the pain he felt, but aside from a mild burning sensation his scar wasn't bothering him. This pain originated somewhere deeper, where magic had carved out a scar that couldn't be seen.

_It's the bond_ , Harry thought, waiting for the pain to pass before pushing off from the wall and running down the dark corridor. _He must be trying to move. I told him to wait, but of course he wouldn't listen to me ..._

          "Harry!"

          He stopped and turned around to see Ron emerge from behind a suit of armour. The old relic had been burned black with dragon's fire, which helped it blend into the shadows that blanketed the corridor. Harry wouldn't have even known Ron was there if he hadn't called out to him.

          "Ron? What are you doing out here?"

          "I couldn't let you go off on your own with Death Eaters on the prowl," Ron said. His eyes were huge in his freckled face, and he kept darting looks up and down the hall only to look back at Harry with a glassy expression, as if he'd been jinxed into a permanent daze. He seemed to mentally retreat even more when he noticed the blood on Harry's shirt, arm and hands. "Are you hurt?"

          "No, I'm fine." Harry clenched his hands to hide the brands on his palms. He didn't think Ron would know what they meant, but on the off-chance that he might be aware of their significance, Harry wanted to avoid telling Ron of his bond with Snape. "I need to find Dumbledore. Do you know where he is?"

          Ron stared at him blankly, his brain apparently on a time delay as he processed Harry's question, but then he jerked as if waking from a daydream and nodded his head. "Dumbledore? Yes, yes ... I saw him go this way." He took off running down the halls, not waiting for Harry to catch up.

_Pretty odd, even for Ron_ , Harry thought, but he didn't have time to analyse his best friend's unusual behaviour. He decided to chalk it up to bad nerves; the average wizard would probably react the same to knowing there could be a Death Eater waiting for him around the next corner. _I'm glad I didn't tell him about Voldemort ..._

          He put his skills as a Seeker to good use as he raced after Ron, taking corners at full speed regardless of who might be waiting for him on the other side. His lungs were nearly bursting from the effort of forcing his body to its limits, first with the bonding spell and now with this 'follow the leader' chase through Hogwarts' halls. Twice he called out to Ron to slow down, but Ron ran like a wizard possessed. He dashed up a set of stairs and disappeared out of sight, leaving Harry to ascend the stone staircase at a slower pace, trudging up each step as if wading through a swamp. When he finally reached the top step, his scar began to hurt, that mild burning sensation sharpening to a painful sizzle.

_Voldemort. He's close_. Harry's first thought was for his friend, and he looked around frantically, trying to figure out which way he went. "Ron! Ron, come back! I think that Vol-"

          He never had a chance to finish his warning as a white-hot surge of _Crucio_ electrified his body and robbed him of all speech and thought. He lost his grip on his wand and it fell to the floor.

          "Dumbledore has truly lost his mind, allowing you free reign of the school when your life is on the line." Voldemort's voice grated on Harry's ears with a harsh, underlying hiss to each word. He sent another agonizing jolt of _Crucio_ into Harry's body before Harry could even think of blocking him. "If only the wizarding world that idolizes and adores you could see you now ... so vulnerable, so weak. Why is it, Potter, that such a worthless wizard has proven to be so much trouble for me?"

          "I suppose that says more about you than it does about me," Harry said with a cracked smile, so close to breaking that he couldn't even muster the energy to be scared. His only regret at this point was that Snape would be experiencing a fraction of Harry's pain through their bond, and he held onto the hope that saving Snape had given the Order a fighting chance at defeating Voldemort after Harry was gone. Dumbledore and Snape together would be a potent combination.

          "You should be begging for your life, insolent boy," Voldemort snarled, torturing Harry for a third time as a means to assuage his wounded pride.

          The pain twisted through Harry's body and threatened to tear his mind apart. He had suffered this curse before, but never when his defences were so low or his strength so depleted. He wasn't sure how he managed to stay on his feet, except that something deep inside seemed to hold him steady through the curse, like unseen hands propping him up whenever his knees started to buckle. He felt so relieved when Voldemort released him from the curse that he barked out a short laugh and wiped a shaking hand across his mouth, surprised to feel a wetness trickling down his cheeks -- tears he didn't know he'd been crying.

          "I'd rather die than beg you for anything." He leaned against the wall, wondering if he should summon his wand or simply give up and allow the inevitable to happen. He didn't much like the second option, but he wasn't sure he could concentrate hard enough to achieve the first one. He felt as magical as a Muggle after expending so much energy on the bonding spell. What would he do with his wand once he had it back in his hand? Poke Voldemort in the eye and make a run for it? A steady rumble of pain in his chest, separate from the aftershocks of the curse, stole the choice out of Harry's hands as he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth against the urge to scream.

          "You'll have your wish soon enough," Voldemort said as he slowly approached Harry, readying himself for one final spell. "Your very existence offends me, so I've decided to erase you altogether. It will be a pleasure for me to watch the unbirth of Harry Potter ..."

_Unbirth?_ The word swam in Harry's consciousness, too slippery to grasp. He was accustomed to hearing Voldemort speak a load of pompous nonsense right before he tried to kill Harry, but how could someone erase another person from existence? Whatever happened to a good, clean Killing Curse? Underneath all that pain, Harry felt a twinge of annoyance that Voldemort was taking the opportunity of Harry's imminent demise to show off. The ache in his chest tightened, but suddenly Harry found it easier to stand straight and tall, facing off against Voldemort with his dignity intact.

          "Get on with it, then," he said in a firm, unwavering tone. He'd faced down death once already tonight. It held no fear for him now. "Let's see if you can actually manage to kill me this time. Judging from past experience, the odds that you'll fail are in my favour ..."

          Harry's flippant response to the idea of his own death seemed to infuriate Voldemort. He raised his wand with an angry howl, a flash of blue light erupting from his wand, but the spell never reached Harry. Instead, it appeared to bounce off the air between Harry and Voldemort, rebounding on its caster. Voldemort's shout of surprise quickly turned to horrific screams, and noxious fumes were expelled from his body as he fell prey to his own curse.

          Though the spell never reached Harry, a violent spasm of pain ripped through his body at the same instant that the spell seemed to ricochet off the air, and he sank to his knees clutching his chest, gasping for breath as an agony worse than _Crucio_ seized his body. The worst of the pain lasted only a few seconds, but it left Harry stunned and incapable of movement for several minutes. By the time he opened his eyes, he was just getting the feeling back in his hands and feet, his body reawakening from its paralysis. Across from him, dimly lit by a nearby torch, he could see a thick, oozing pile of blackish goo, the light catching on the pale white of an exposed bone and what looked like a human hand half-submerged in the vile remains of what had been the most feared dark wizard of modern times.

          Harry's stomach attempted a weak revolt, but he was too exhausted to be sick over the sight of liquefied Voldemort. He blinked several times, trying to bring the world back into focus. He looked down at his hands and dimly recognised that something was wrong, his palms bloody but unmarked.

          Then he saw the feet.

          They seemed to be sticking out of thin air, as if abandoned by the body to which they belonged, cut off right above the ankles so Harry could see the beginnings of a pair of grey and green argyle socks emerging from the top of the shoes. Harry stared at the socks for a long time, oblivious to the shouts of his name from down the corridor or the sounds of footsteps on the stone floor. Fear crept back into his heart, followed swiftly by despair, and he crawled across the floor until his hands bumped into something solid. He slid his fingers over the air in front of him and felt the silky texture of the invisibility cloak beneath his fingertips. The discovery tore a sob from his throat.

          Dumbledore came running up the corridor towards him. Ron was nowhere in sight. "Harry! Harry, are you alright?"

          He ignored Dumbledore's question, closing himself off from everything but the still-warm body that lay beside him on the floor. He curled his fingers into the fabric of the cloak and pulled it away, revealing Snape's dark-clad figure, his body curled in on itself with one arm flung over his face as if shielding his eyes from some terrible vision. He looked smaller and thinner, and Harry's first thought was of Cedric's body and how there had seemed to be so much less of him after he'd died, as if a person's spirit puffed out their body like hot air and a corpse was nothing more than a popped balloon, shrunken and shrivelled.

          "Is that ... Severus?" Dumbledore knelt down beside Harry and reached out to move Snape's arm away from his face, but instead of the lined, world-weary face of an adult, this Snape had the face of a teenager, perhaps no older than Harry himself, his sharp, angular features softened by youth. His skin was pale but with a hint of colour in his cheeks, not the deathly pallor that Harry expected. He watched, hope fending off devastation, as Dumbledore pressed his fingers to Snape's throat.

          "He's alive."

          Those were the last words Harry would remember hearing before he succumbed to injury and exhaustion, sinking into the sweetness of a long, dark sleep.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

          Two days after the attack on Hogwarts and Voldemort's defeat found Harry in a private room in the hospital wing, curled up in a plush armchair at Snape's bedside as he waited for him to wake up. Snape had fallen into a magical coma after being struck by Voldemort's spell, a curse that Dumbledore referred to as the Chronos Curse. The majority of the spell's damage had occurred instantly, but Snape was still regaining his youth in tiny increments, first in days, then hours, and since the dawn of the second day, in minutes and seconds. Classes wouldn't start up again for another two days while Dumbledore oversaw repairs to the school, calmed panicky parents, and hired a new Potions teacher, so Harry spent most of his free time at Snape's side.

          He'd brought his school bag with him, full of good intentions, but instead he was reading a copy of _Witch Weekly_ that Hermione had given to him after discovering that it contained an article on Snape and how his sacrifice had saved Harry's life: _The Man Who Saved The Saviour: An Exclusive Look Into The Life of Severus Snape_. The article detailed every aspect of Snape's life, from his bleak childhood to his achievements at school and his talent for creating and modifying spells, to his heroic actions that led to Voldemort's second (and hopefully permanent) demise. Snape's job as Potions Master was glossed over as a cover for his recently exposed 'real life' as a thrill-seeking spy, sugarcoating his reign of terror in the classroom as _commanding his students' respect_ , but overall the article depicted an accurate, if somewhat blurry, picture of who Snape was.

          "You're in all the papers," Harry told an unconscious Snape with a wry grin, "and thanks to a very determined Colin Creevey, they're running photos of you in your hospital gown with your hair sticking out in every direction and drool on your chin. It's the best I've seen you looking in a long time ..."

          He meant it, too. Though he'd come to love the old Snape, it was eye-opening to see how much regaining his youth had changed him, as if the Snape in that photograph in Harry's trunk had crawled out of the picture and into reality. Where his skin had once been sallow and lined, he now had the pale but smooth skin of a young man, untouched by the stresses that had haunted Snape later in life. His features were too sharp and angular to be considered handsome, and that hooked nose would stand out no matter how young or old Snape grew to be, but there was a power there, a noble mien that Harry could appreciate better now that Snape's face wasn't twisted into a scowl or a sneer. He had amazingly thick, dark lashes, and his lips, though thin, were an enticing shade of red, the only hint of colour to be found in an otherwise monochrome face. His hair was longer and hung around his face in a dark tangle, but a good washing by Madam Pomfrey had taken out the grease and grime. Harry couldn't wait for Snape to wake up; he knew just how magnetic those dark eyes could be -- they were Snape's best feature -- and he believed that they would be the key to turning an interesting face into an attractive one.

          "How is our patient?" Dumbledore asked as he entered the room, interrupting Harry's Snape-gazing.

          "The same." Harry tossed the copy of _Witch Weekly_ onto a low table next to his chair. "He hasn't opened his eyes since I've been here. Were the Aurors able to learn anything more about the attack? How did the Death Eaters get into the castle?"

          "I'm afraid we still have more questions than answers," Dumbledore said, as closemouthed as ever, but Harry wasn't about to let Dumbledore put him off with that _you don't need to worry about this_ smile.

          He recalled Snape's theory of an inside job. "Do you think someone at Hogwarts found a way to sneak them in?" Voldemort may have melted himself into a nasty puddle, but that didn't mean Harry was free of enemies. If there was a traitor at Hogwarts, Harry needed to know.

          "Anything is possible," Dumbledore deftly sidestepped the question, just as determined as Harry to have the conversation go his way. "The Carrows are being interrogated at Azkaban, but I doubt they were included in the planning of the attack. Unfortunately, they were the only Death Eaters we were able to capture alive, and Bellatrix escaped us altogether. You are sure she was in the castle, Harry?"

          "Yes, I saw her name on my map," Harry said, which made him think of something else he needed to ask Dumbledore. "My map ... did you find it?"

          "We only found your cloak, Harry. There was no map."

_I'm sure Snape must have had it_ , Harry thought, chewing on his thumbnail, _or else how did he find me so quickly?_ That wasn't the only mystery Harry had to deal with: his questions to Ron about where he'd gone to after leading Harry on such a long chase were met with guilt and apologies, but no answers. Harry didn't care that Ron hadn't been there when Harry confronted Voldemort, in fact he was happy and relieved that his friend hadn't been in harm's way, but there was something in the furtive way Ron dodged his questions that troubled Harry.

          Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room, a long, silver thermometer in her hand. "Pardon me, gentlemen, but I need to take one last measurement before I update my charts." She pulled down Snape's chin and placed the thermometer in his mouth, waiting until it turned a deep purple before removing it and holding it up to the light. "Hmm ... seventeen and three quarters. His age is holding steady now. He should be waking up in no time."

          "She's been saying that all morning," Harry said after she'd left.

          "Ah, well, it takes time for the body to recover after receiving the Chronos Curse."

          "If the Chronos Curse reverts someone back to a younger version of themselves, why did Voldemort talk about watching my 'unbirth'? Could he really have made it so I was never born?"

          Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, the Chronos Curse reverts all things back to an earlier state of being, just as it did to Voldemort when it reverted him back to the ingredients of the ritual he used to restore his body. Think of it as taking an eraser to your own life -- whether you take away minutes or years, that time is gone for good, and with it all your memories from that time period. It's not a good spell to use on one's self as one can never be sure how powerful the spell will be -- you might take off five years or fifty, and anything you've accomplished or learned in those years is ripped out of your mind as if you never even gave it a thought. "

          Harry looked down at Snape's face. Had Voldemort's spell wiped the past twenty years from Snape's mind as effortlessly as it had destroyed their bond? Harry couldn't help but mourn the loss of their connection, as forced as it had been, but the spell had also removed Snape's tattoo and the scars he'd been hiding for years. It was as if Snape had been given a clean slate in reward for his faithful service, and Harry couldn't begrudge him a second chance at a happy life. On the positive side, it did solve the problem of whether Harry should tell Dumbledore about the illegal spell he'd used, and he didn't have to worry about Snape's reaction to being forcibly bonded. Also, if Snape didn't remember how much he hated Harry, maybe that meant Harry could befriend him. He let his mind wander over the possibilities while Dumbledore droned on about the curse.

          "They removed that spell from textbooks at the beginning of the century, but I'm not surprised that Voldemort added it to his repertoire. It is an incredibly effective spell when used as a weapon. Even if the victim survives, his minds has been crippled, knowledge lost and spells forgotten. He wakes to find family and friends older or passed on, perhaps a spouse he cannot recognise, or children he cannot recall being born. I do not envy Severus. He may have regained several years of his life, but he has lost much, much more."

          "I hadn't thought of it like that," Harry said. As much as he'd grown to love Snape, he'd also discounted his life as being too miserable for words, a nightmare that he would surely prefer to forget, but very few people lived a life devoid of all happy moments. Everyone had good memories, even Snape.

          "Our experiences are more precious than we can imagine. If we have not learned from the past, we are doomed to repeat the same mistakes." Dumbledore smiled as he looked at Snape's sleeping face. "However, in this particular case, I believe a brighter future lies ahead ..."

          He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder before leaving the room to speak with Madam Pomfrey, and Harry was once again alone with Snape, content to listen to the sound of Snape's breathing as he closed his eyes and imagined the many ways he could share in that bright future. He became so lost in his musings that he didn't hear the slight hitch in Snape's snoring or the rustle of the bedsheets, never noticing that something had changed until he looked over at the bed and found it empty. He sat up straight in his chair and looked around the room, spotting Snape in a far corner, half-slouched in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the wall, his pale legs exposed by the shortness of the stark white hospital gown he wore.

          Snape stared intently at his own reflection, puzzlement giving way to wonder, and he tentatively placed a hand on the mirror, as if he couldn't quite trust what he was seeing. Harry fully expected the confusion and disbelief he read in Snape's expression, but what he wasn't prepared for was the way Snape's mouth curved into a smile, or the laughter that bubbled out of his mouth as he examined himself in the mirror. Soft chuckles grew into one hearty belly-laugh, and Harry started to worry that Snape had lost his mind as well as his memories, but then the laughter abruptly ended and Snape glared at his reflection. He pulled his hand back from the mirror before slicing it through the air in a downward motion, sending a huge crack through the mirror's surface.

          "Seven years bad luck!" the mirror admonished him, but a look from Snape silenced it.

          "Bad luck is the only kind of luck I trust," Snape said, his voice slightly higher now but just as rich and velvety as Harry remembered it.

_Surly attitude -- check_ , Harry thought, mentally cataloguing a list of Snape's better-known traits to see how much had been changed by the spell. A dull ache crept into his chest when Snape finally turned around and acknowledged his presence, studying Harry with an unreadable expression. Harry heaved himself out of the armchair, determined to make a good first impression with the 'new' Snape, but his bravery wilted under the scorching heat of the glare that Snape sent his way.

          "Potter," he hissed, his hands clenching into fists.

_What?_ Harry backed up a step, almost stumbling over the chair. _How does he remember my name?_

          "Why are you here, Potter?" Snape spoke in a loud, exaggerated voice as he stalked across the room towards Harry. "Have you come to humiliate me even more? Haven't you and Black done enough?"

_He thinks I'm my dad_. Harry continued to back away, evading Snape's menacing approach until his back hit the wall and he could go no further. "Look, you have me confused for someone else ..."

          "Oh, I'm far from confused," Snape said in a hushed voice, his anger replaced by quiet cunning, but then he switched back to his boisterous tirade, "I'm tired of letting you kick me around, Potter."

          Harry slid along the wall in an attempt to get around Snape, but Snape blocked him by slamming his hand against the wall right by Harry's head. Harry swallowed hard, the ache in his chest deepening. "It's not _me_ you're talking about ... you've got the wrong idea ..."

          "Don't give me that innocent act," Snape shouted, then he leaned in close to Harry, his black eyes glittering with amusement, "I know what you did, Harry. I remember _everything_. Play along or I won't keep your dirty little secret."

          Harry stopped trying to get away and stared blankly at Snape. "What?"

          Snape huffed in exasperation and scratched his head, looking around the room, then at the door, and then back at Harry. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and pulled him away from the wall before pushing him down on the floor and straddling his hips.

          "Make it look real," he whispered into Harry's ear, and then his hands were around Harry's throat and he was screaming at him at the top of his lungs, "I'm going to bloody kill you, Potter! I'll choke that smirk right off your face! I bet they'll give me a damn medal for getting rid of a bully like you!"

          Harry was so bewildered by the whole situation that he couldn't do much more than lie there motionless while Snape pretended to strangle him. His cock had twitched happily when Snape straddled him, but his brain was too busy trying to sort out Snape's strange behaviour to truly appreciate the full-body contact. Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey burst into the room only seconds after Snape started screaming, and it took both of them to pull Snape off of Harry and drag him back to the bed where Madam Pomfrey conjured magical restraints to hold him at bay.

          "Calm down, Profess-- err, Mr. Snape," Madame Pomfrey said, barely managing to check his vitals while coping with Snape's wild struggles to free himself. She looked over at Dumbledore. "Anger and confusion are common reactions upon waking for time-loss victims. A nice, healthy tantrum wouldn't harm him at this point, but I can give him a calming draught if you prefer."

          Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Poppy, that won't be necessary. I will explain everything to Severus. You should go back to your other patients."

          Snape continued to growl and thrash as Madame Pomfrey left the room, but once the door clicked shut he relaxed his head against the pillow, completely serene as he gazed up at Dumbledore and Harry.

          "That went rather well, despite Potter's poor acting," he said. His self-satisfied smile turned slightly malicious as he taunted Harry, "You might have at least _pretended_ to fear for your life. If I hadn't turned in such a brilliant performance, Albus and Poppy might have mistaken our fight for something more risqué."

          Harry's cheeks burned with embarrassment. He ticked off another trait from his list: _Lives to humiliate me -- check._

          Dumbledore shook off his surprise and narrowed his eyes at Snape. "What exactly is going on here?"

          "Remove these restraints and I'll tell you," Snape said, holding up his wrists.

          Dumbledore hesitated -- and not for a mere second or two, which Harry would have understood, but for a full minute of silent deliberation, pinning Snape with a stern gaze that would have caused most wizards' knees to knock. Snape just stared back at him, his expression giving nothing away. Finally, after a stretch of silence so painful that Harry completely forgot about the ache in his chest, Dumbledore took out his wand and banished the restraints.

          "Explain," he ordered as he sat in Harry's chair. Harry, not wanting to bring any attention to himself, just stood awkwardly off to the side.

          "I needed a reliable witness to my altered memory," Snape said as he sat up on the bed, rubbing at the fading red marks on his wrists. "In Poppy's professional opinion, I am a typical time-loss victim. Public interest will ensure that the extent of my injuries becomes a matter of record, both in print and by word of mouth, and no one will ever know -- outside of us three -- that I remember much, much more than I'm letting on."

          "How did you manage to avoid losing your memories to the curse? And why bother to hide it at all?"

          "The why is directly related to the how." Snape examined his tattoo-free arm as he spoke, running his fingers over the unmarked skin. "Potter's cloak played a part in protecting me, but I believe it was the bond that saved my memories. A bond strong enough to bring me back from death offers a greater protection than any magical artefact can provide."

          "Bond? What bond?"

          Harry thought about sneaking out of the room but Snape nailed him to the spot with a look.

          "You didn't even tell Dumbledore?" he asked, incredulous.

          Harry lowered his eyes when confronted by Dumbledore's penetrating gaze. He didn't regret what he'd done, far from it, but he did wish he had come clean about it before now. "They told me you wouldn't remember anything, and Voldemort's spell broke our bond, so ..."

          "You're making this far too easy for me," Snape said softly, but he didn't expand on his cryptic words. Instead, he steered Dumbledore's attention away from Harry and back to himself. "As soon as the attack began, I sought out any Death Eater I could find. I knew that my ignorance of the Dark Lord's plans might mean my true loyalties had been revealed, but I was confident that I could get more information by capturing one of his followers. Imagine my surprise when I found myself confronted by the Dark Lord himself. He did not take my betrayal lightly, and he attacked me with one of his more creative curses."

          Dumbledore stroked his beard, his expression turning thoughtful as he reconciled Snape's story with the evidence left behind that night. "That would explain the condition of your clothing, and the blood stains on the wall and the floor where we found your wand. So, Voldemort cursed you and left you to die. What happened then?"

          "I died, of course," Snape said with a snort, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. He looked at Harry and added, "but not before Potter forced a bond on me in a foolish attempt to save my life."

          "It worked, didn't it?" Harry shot back, more than a little peeved that Snape spoke about it so dismissively.

          "You could have died, stupid boy."

          Dumbledore broke up their fight with a wave of his hand. He didn't seem convinced that any bond Harry used would have been strong enough to protect Snape from either of Voldemort's spells. "Forced bonds are weaker than consensual bonds by the very nature of their creation, and there are only three bonds in existence that are so powerful that they can bind one life-span to another. Two of those bonds require consent from both participants, and the third ..." He trailed off into a stricken silence.

          "And now we get to the why," Snape said.

          Dumbledore stood up and began pacing back and forth across the room, his hands clasped behind his back. "If the wizarding world knew you'd retained your memories in the face of the Chronos Curse, everyone would want to know how you managed it. There would be an investigation, interrogations ..."

          "Potter didn't seem to realise the enormity of his actions when he formed the bond, but you do. This would ruin him. No one would care that he did it to save my life -- anyone convicted of casting _Morgaine's Thread_ is punished with a minimum sentence of life in Azkaban, no exceptions. I'm at a loss as to where Potter came across the spell as it's hardly part of the curriculum here, but now that he has gone and dabbled in the darkest magic he could find, I suggest you salvage his future while you still can."

          Dumbledore didn't miss the subtle choice of Snape saying 'you' instead of 'we.' He paused in his pacing, watching Snape with a return of that cautious tension, as if he couldn't decide whose side Snape was on anymore. "The bond has been destroyed by Voldemort's spell, just as Harry said. What evidence would the Ministry have to convict Harry on?"

          Snape smirked. "I'm all the evidence they would need. I recall with crystal-clear detail everything that happened that night. And, if that wasn't enough to convince them ..." He got off the bed and walked over to Harry, grabbing his right wrist and turning his hand so that his palm faced upward. He let go of Harry only long enough to conjure a pin and prick his own finger, then he took hold of Harry's hand again and squeezed out a drop of his blood onto Harry's palm. As soon as that red drop struck Harry's skin, it spread across his palm in delicate curves and swirls, forming a replica of the same symbol Harry had carved there two nights ago.

          " _Morgaine's Thread_ leaves a scar that never goes away," Snape murmured, capturing Harry's gaze for one breathless moment before he turned back to Dumbledore. "I hold Potter's fate in my hands. Do we agree?"

          "It would appear so," Dumbledore said. He sounded more curious than angry as he conceded Snape's position of power, though he continued to regard Snape with a wary frown. "How do you plan to proceed?"

          Snape stroked his thumb over Harry's wrist before releasing his hand. It was such a brief caress that Harry chalked it up to being a hallucination born of wishful thinking. He rubbed his palm on his trousers to get rid of the bloody mark.

          "I'm willing to keep up the pretence that my memories have been erased, but I won't be your puppet anymore, Albus," Snape said. "My strings are cut from this day forward."

          Dumbledore's frown now bordered on a scowl, but he gave a short nod in agreement. "Your life is your own, Severus. I guarantee that I will not interfere in your future."

          Snape straightened up as if a crushing burden had just been lifted from his back. His triumphant expression, though somewhat smug, brightened his entire face, bringing a healthy glow to his pale skin. Harry found himself admiring the red curve of Snape's lower lip.

          "I have other conditions," Snape carried on confidently, his first victory giving him momentum, "but I won't discuss them in front of Potter."

          Harry tore his gaze away from Snape's mouth to glare at him. "Why do I have to leave?"

          "Run along, Potter. The grown-ups need to have a talk."

          "We're the same age now!"

          "Physically, yes, but emotionally you're still in your infancy."

          "This from a man who gets his jollies terrorizing eleven-year-olds."

          "Enough!" Dumbledore flicked his wand at the door and it swung open. "Leave, Harry. I will inform you of your punishment later."

          Snape smirked, giving a condescending little wave as Harry left the room.

_So much for a fresh start,_ Harry thought.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

          The secret of Snape's true condition burned inside of Harry for the rest of the day. The only moment of commiseration he experienced was at supper when he exchanged glances with Dumbledore. Back at the dormitory, he only half-listened while Ron and Hermione squabbled over studying (Hermione was for it, Ron was against it), too busy worrying about those 'other conditions' that Snape wouldn't discuss in front of Harry. Why didn't he want Harry to know what they were? That kind of secrecy didn't bode well for him.

          Hermione nudged him to get his attention. "Harry, where are those Transfiguration notes I let you borrow?"

          "Notes?" Harry frowned as he tried to remember where he'd put them. "I think they're in my-"

          He groaned and buried his face in his hands. He'd left his school bag in the hospital wing, propped up against Snape's bedside table. He peered through his fingers at Hermione. "Do you have to have them tonight?"

          Ron snorted and looked up at Harry, shaking his head. "Do you really need to ask?"

          "Well, they _are_ my notes ..." Hermione began her defence.

          Harry stood up. "Right. On my way, then."

          "... and I know Professor McGonnegall is going to test us soon ..."

          "Walking to the door now," Harry called back to her over his shoulder.

          "... and pardon me for caring about my education, something you two rarely-"

          The portrait swung shut behind Harry, effectively cutting Hermione off before she could launch into a full-blown lecture.

          Harry spent the entire walk to the hospital wing volleying back and forth between excitement and dread. He couldn't tell where he stood with Snape now, so he wasn't sure how he would react to seeing Harry again so soon.

_He'll probably accuse me of leaving the bag behind on purpose,_ Harry thought with a scowl. Snape always seemed to know just what to say to keep Harry off-balance.

          He arrived at the door to Snape's private room just as Draco was leaving it.

          "Come to play nursemaid, Potter?" Draco asked with a smirk. "You don't waste any time when there's fresh meat about, now do you?"

          "What can I say, I'm a man-eater," Harry replied in a flat voice that matched his blank expression. He'd learned long ago that giving Draco any kind of reaction only encouraged him.

          Draco's smirk wavered, but he plowed on through Harry's indifference to say, "Mulgrew will be disappointed. He's made it so obvious he'd like to be your next meal."

          "I'll keep that in mind." Harry brushed past him and started to open the door, then added over his shoulder, "I admire you, Draco. Not many blokes in this school could handle that starvation diet _you've_ been on. I know I couldn't."

          He winked and left Draco spluttering behind him as he darted into Snape's room and quickly closed the door. His grin froze when he turned around to see Snape standing right in front of him.

          "Does the concept of knocking before coming into a room elude you, Potter?" Snape had exchanged the hospital gown for a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. His feet were bare, but a pair of black trainers were perched on the end of his bed along with a stack of clothes. Was that the reason Draco had visited Snape?

          "Sorry, I --" Harry doubted that detailing his exchange with Draco would endear him to Snape, so he just sighed and pointed at his bag. "I forgot my bag. I just came back to get it."

          "So that's your excuse?" Snape smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "You left your bag here so you'd have a reason to come see me?"

          "Yes, I couldn't wait to be back in your glorious presence again," Harry said dryly, not at all happy that he'd been right about Snape's reaction.

          "You'd better be nice to me, Potter. One word from me and you'll be dodging Dementors in Azkaban."

          "You wouldn't really do that," Harry said, but it was hard to keep the uncertainty out of his voice.

          "Of course I would. I'm Severus Snape, resident bastard, Slytherin to the bone. A little blackmail is nothing to me. Maybe next time you'll think twice before resorting to illegal spells."

          The way Snape kept harping on Harry's 'criminal' behaviour was starting to really frustrate him. "I did what I did to help you. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

          Snape pressed his lips together, as if biting back his next retort. He raked a hand through his long, lank hair and looked away. "No one asked you to play Saviour, Potter."

          "How can you be such an ungrateful git? Not once have you said anything to me resembling a thank you for saving your life." Harry turned back to open the door, forgetting in his anger the very bag he'd come to fetch, but Snape grabbed Harry by the arm and prevented him from leaving.

          "You truly don't understand the magnitude of what you did," Snape murmured, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. He slowly reeled Harry back in, sliding his hands up Harry's arms to his shoulders and holding him in place. "You did me a favour, hmm? I should be grateful?"

          So close to Snape, hearing him speak so softly, Harry wasn't sure of anything anymore. He clung stubbornly to his earlier anger, the only safe emotion that Snape provoked in him. "Isn't that the usual reaction when someone saves your life? To be grateful?"

          "Grateful," Snape repeated, staring stone-faced at Harry for several seconds before a sly grin curved his lips. He chuckled to himself and gave a short nod of his head, as if he'd come to some secret decision about how to respond to Harry's claim. He relaxed his grip on Harry's shoulders, taking on a lighter, conversational tone as he said, "Would you like to hear how _Morgaine's Thread_ got its name?"

          Harry eyed Snape warily. "Why the sudden history lesson?"

          "The spell's namesake, Morgaine, was an illegitimate half-blood," Snape carried on, ignoring Harry's question, "raised in her father's household as little more than a servant, but secretly instructed in sorcery by her grandmother, a direct descendant of Morgan Le Fey. Morgaine's mother killed herself in front of her child when Morgaine was only six, and her father barely acknowledged her presence except to express disgust at bringing a 'half-breed' into the world, so you can imagine the sort of childhood she endured."

_Life with the Dursleys doesn't sound too bad in comparison,_ Harry thought.

          "She had no status, no true possessions of her own, and no parental love to ease those hardships, but she had beauty and wit and an extraordinary talent for magic. By the age of sixteen, she was as powerful and cunning as any witch or wizard of that time, but life had twisted her, and the death of her grandmother, her sole ally in her father's household, ripped the last shreds of humanity from her soul. She struck out on her own -- leaving behind a poisoned step-mother, two suffocated half-siblings and an eviscerated father -- and took work as a seamstress."

          "I'm starting to think there's not going to be a 'happily ever after' at the end of this story," Harry said with a strained smile, deeply disturbed by the gruesome tale Snape was telling him but trying not show it. He shrugged Snape's hands off his shoulders and walked a few steps away, feigning an interest in the stack of books on the bedside table. "So the spell is called Morgaine's Thread because she was a seamstress? Is that it?"

          Snape leisurely followed him, drawing up close behind Harry, his lips only inches from Harry's ear. "In part, yes. You see, Morgaine was adept at manipulating men, but she had no faith in them. She had watched her mother be thrown away by her father, seduced then abandoned, and she had no intention of allowing her own lovers to follow suit. Falling back on her grandmother's teachings, she crafted a spell that would bind her lovers to her forever ..."

          Harry swallowed hard at the bile rising in his throat. His hands itched to cover his ears and block out Snape's voice. He didn't want to hear the rest of Morgaine's story, but Snape seemed determined to torture him with every last detail.

          "She would paralyse them in their sleep, when they were most vulnerable; a simple Body-Bind Curse and they would be helpless. Then she would take her needle and thread and sew their eyes and mouths shut, trapping them in a world of darkness, unable to scream or call for help. Then came the carving of the brands -- you were merciful, Potter, to use your wand; Morgaine preferred to use an ordinary kitchen knife -- and finally the binding spell itself, a bond that imprints itself so deeply on the soul that the weaker of its victims feel driven to obedience, mere slaves to their bondmates."

          Harry spun around, looking almost as wretched as he felt. "I didn't know--"

          "Morgaine would keep her lovers blind and dumb until she achieved complete dominance over them," Snape cut him off, a fiendish amusement marking his expression. He was clearly enjoying tormenting Harry with the gory origins of the binding spell. "They were kept sightless, starved into submission, and Morgaine became their entire world -- her voice at their ears, her touch on their skin, her bond like a chain around their hearts. In some cases, her victims starved to death before she could break them, but there would always be another man, another soul to ensnare. Her lovers became known by the scars on their eyes and their mouths, and the crimson brands on the palms of their hands. She never kept them alive for long -- ironically, Morgaine was just as fickle in love as her father -- but their devotion to her was deep and obsessive. _Morgaine's Thread_ is the darkest kind of magic, Potter. It's a violation, a rape ... and you would have known that if you'd taken the time to research the spell thoroughly. Did you even once stop to wonder why someone who used that spell would be punished so severely?"

           Harry couldn't think of anything to say. He was horrified by this new information, but in the back of his mind lurked a terrible uncertainty about whether he would have done anything differently even if he'd known what _Morgaine's Thread_ really entailed. He told himself that he would have found another spell to use, another 'last resort' method of saving the people he loved, but if he were back in that hallway right now, watching Snape die with only _Morgaine's Thread_ as a way to save him, what would Harry do? Would he go ahead and sacrifice Snape's freewill just to keep him alive and at Harry's side? These were questions he couldn't bear to ask himself.

           That hint of sadistic glee in Snape's eyes shifted to a stronger emotion as he backed Harry up against the wall. "You spoke the words of the spell so readily, so sincerely, but do you even know what _Arakalë_ means?"

          Hearing that word on Snape's lips sent a shudder of pain through Harry's body, and he pressed one hand against his chest where the ache was at its worst. He shook his head and gritted out a reply, "No, I never looked it up," his eyes darting from side to side in search of an escape route, looking everywhere but at Snape's face.

          " _Arakalë_ means _you are mine_ ," Snape whispered right before he kissed Harry.

          Harry was too stunned to react, too stunned to even feel anything during those three seconds that his lips and Snape's lips were touching. When Snape pulled back, he had that same dark intensity to his gaze, but Harry's silent, wide-eyed response to the kiss killed whatever emotion had been lurking in his eyes and his expression turned mocking.

          "You should see your face, Potter," he said with a sneer.

          He turned his back on Harry and walked over to the bed, grabbing a book from the top of the pile on his bedside table and plopping down onto the mattress. He wrapped up his 'history lesson' with an air of indifference. "The spell was passed on by a small sect of those who practised the Dark Arts, improved on and perfected over the years, but when the minimum punishment for casting it was raised to life in Azkaban, it fell out of popularity among modern wizards and witches. The usual motive given today by those who use _Morgaine's Thread_ is unrequited love. Some people just can't take 'no' for an answer. There, I've educated you. Now, get out. I'm tired of playing teacher."

          Another tremor of pain rolled through Harry's chest. Hearing the truth about _Morgaine's Thread_ had been traumatic enough, but that joking kiss that Snape had given him -- a kiss that even now burned on his lips -- was too much for him to take in. He grabbed his schoolbag and almost ran to the door, but even in such a chaotic state of mind his curiosity got the better of him. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and glanced over at Snape.

          "What happened to Morgaine?"

          Snape looked up from his book, suddenly grim as he answered, "She fell in love -- truly in love -- but her bondmate resisted her to the very end. He hanged himself to be free of her. The pain of their severed bond drove her to madness, and Morgaine slit her wrists with the same knife she'd used to carve the brands into her lover's palms."

          It was a fittingly tragic end to such a macabre story. Harry clutched at his chest with one hand, all too aware of the pain there that was now fading to a dull ache. What had Snape said that morning? _Morgaine's Thread leaves a scar that never goes away._ That scar had cost Morgaine her sanity and her life. What would it cost Harry?

          He took one last look at Snape and hurried out of the room.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Warnings: Blackmail and coercion (of a sort).

 

 

          Harry balanced precariously on the second rung from the top of the library ladder, running the tip of his wand over the spines of the dusty books on the top shelf looking for bookworms. The punishment Dumbledore had given him included de-worming every infected book in the library, and since books that contained powerful spells were more susceptible to infestation, Harry had been instructed to start in the Restricted Section.

          Ron and Hermione were seated at a table a few stacks away, hidden from his sight but well within earshot, working on their homework together while waiting for Harry to finish his detention. He would have to go straight from his last class to the library and work until supper time every day until the job was finished, and when the Christmas holiday rolled around, his detention would extend even longer since he wouldn't have the excuse of classes to keep him away. His friends had decided to accompany him to his first detention since they hadn't seen much of him during his vigil at Snape's bedside, but they were more of a distraction than a comfort as Hermione berated Ron for his apathetic approach to school work.

          "Are you even trying?" she asked, forgetting to lower her voice. Harry heard Madam Pince's hushed reprimand from across the room, followed by Hermione's stage whisper, “You knew every answer to these questions two weeks ago, so how in the world did you fail your test? I'm beginning to think you were hit with the same spell that stole Professor Snape's memories.”

          Harry fumbled with the book he'd pulled off the shelf, suffering a pang of guilt that he hadn't told his best friends the truth about Snape and his 'injuries.'

          "I've had a lot on my mind," Ron said. He sounded meek compared to Hermione, as if she'd finally cowed him into submission when it came to homework and studying. "It's almost time to eat. Can't we go now?"

          That sounded more like the Ron Harry knew. He tucked the book under his arm and climbed down the ladder, weaving his way through the rows of shelves until he reached the table where Hermione and Ron were sitting.

          "I'm with Ron," he said, placing his latest find on the top of a pile of books waiting to be de-wormed. "Everyone else is probably already at the Great Hall. I just need to finish with these books and I'll be right behind you."

          Hermione reluctantly closed her textbook. "Are you sure, Harry? We could stay and help you ..."

          "No, no, I'll be fine." He waved them off with a good-natured grin, waiting until they were out of sight before he sank down into Ron's vacated chair with a weary sigh. He didn't mind the punishment -- as Dumbledore had pointed out, it could have been far, far worse -- but he couldn't help thinking that he'd been cheated somehow. He had all the consequences of his actions but none of the benefits, not even a fresh start with Snape.

_Don't be greedy, Harry_ , he scolded himself. _Snape is alive, and that's the only thing that matters._

          He picked up the book on top of his pile and opened it, flipping through the pages to see if there was any visible damage. Bookworms were short, flat and white, blending in easily with the pages they fed from in their early stages before gradually growing darker and chubbier with the amount of ink they consumed. Most of the bookworms he'd removed so far had been pale and dormant, attached to the spines of the books and easily banished with _Evanesco_. Active bookworms were a bit trickier depending on the book they inhabited. Harry had never put much stock in the power of the written word until he'd tried to kill a bookworm that had eaten an entire chapter on protection spells. Once the worm was dead, any words it had eaten instantly reappeared on the book's pages, something that Harry found quite rewarding, but most of the books carried fresh worm-repelling charms that led to dormant infestations. Harry started looking forward to the sight of a blank page or missing chunks of paragraphs just to break the monotony. The punishment was so tediously boring that Harry started to wonder if it had been Dumbledore's idea at all.

          "Ten galleons says that this was all Snape's idea," he muttered.

          "I'll take that bet," Snape's low, luscious voice whispered in his ear.

          "Gah!" Harry dropped the book just as a sharp pain shot through his chest.

          "Sssh, this is a library." Snape's fingers curled around Harry's neck before sliding up to his chin. He tilted Harry's head back so he could look into his eyes. "Am I going to have to keep you quiet?"

          He acted before Harry could respond, bending down to press a soft kiss to Harry's lips, and managing to do it quite well considering the awkward angle. His fingers drifted back down to Harry's throat, gently holding him in place as he coaxed Harry's mouth open with his tongue.

          At first, Harry couldn't get past the initial shock of _Snape is kissing me_ to react, but as the kiss deepened and Snape's tongue flicked against his own, instinct kicked in and he jerked his head away, rubbing the back of his hand against his lips in a half-hearted attempt at disgust. "What are you doing?"

          "Library ... yes," Snape murmured before he straightened up and pulled out the chair next to Harry, dropping a stack of letters onto the table as he sat down. He wore dark trousers and an ill-fitting green t-shirt that looked like he'd borrowed it from Hagrid, the faded fabric splotched and stained with what Harry guessed to be old potion experiments. His hair was as long as it had been in the hospital wing, a few inches past his shoulders, and it kept falling into his face, requiring him to brush it away with his fingers or shake it out of his eyes with a toss of his head.

          "What about the library?" Harry congratulated himself on sounding so calm and composed when his first impulse had been to grab Snape by the collar and demand to know why the hell he'd kissed him ... _again_. Was this Snape's version of a running gag? Harry was not amused.

          "I'm compiling a list of all the places and times that you consider 'proper' for a snog. Library, hospital wing ... I suppose I should add 'during detention' as well."

          While his shock at the kiss never faded, Harry had to laugh when he realized what Snape alluded to with his little taunt, recalling the cheeky way he'd responded to Snape when being asked if he wanted the Kiss. He only had himself to blame for giving Snape the ammunition and the opportunity to tease him like this. What other cringe-worthy things had he said that night? No doubt Snape would remind him. "You really remember everything."

          "Every last detail."

          "Then you should know I said for you to _ask_ me if I wanted a snog, not just kiss me whenever you felt like it."

          "But I want your natural reaction," Snape argued amiably, as if his efforts in discovering Harry's kissing preferences were simply a matter of intellectual curiosity. He picked up the book Harry had dropped, turning it over in his hands, a restless energy imbued in his every movement. "By the way, you owe me ten galleons. Albus dreamed up this punishment all on his own. He doesn't always use his powers for good, you know."

          Harry _did_ know, but he wasn't sure why Snape was talking so casually to him about it. Did a blast of the Chronos Curse finally succeed in removing the stick from Snape's arse? Or was it possible that, before joining the Death Eaters and mucking up his life, Snape hadn't been the same prickly bastard who lived to terrorize his students? Either way, this chummy chat they were having made Harry nervous.

          He snatched the book back from Snape and resumed his worm hunt. "Is there a reason you're here? Other than investigating my fondness for snogging in the library, that is."

          Snape shoved the stack of letters towards Harry. "Do you know what these are?"

          Harry gave them a cursory glance before focusing back on the book, his answer soaked in sarcasm, "I don't know, could they be ... letters?"

          "These are love letters. _Love letters_ , Potter." Snape scowled at the offensive stack. "People I don't know, some old enough to be my grandmother, are writing to tell me how much they admire me, or how they long to meet me, or how they want to corner me in a dark room, rip off my clothes, and suck on my --"

          "That's enough," Harry interrupted him. "I don't want to hear all the gory details. You're a hero now, and, against all odds, a popular one. It's inevitable that you start to get letters from your fans. Why not enjoy it?"

          "I'm not like you, Potter," Snape sneered. "I don't want everyone to love me."

          Harry glared at Snape, falling easily back into their old bickering ways. It was liberating to be able to say exactly what he wanted to Snape without having to worry about losing points for Gryffindor or getting a detention. "I fail to see how your new-found popularity is any concern of mine. Either get to the point or leave me alone so I can finish this and go eat."

          Snape pulled out his wand and gave it a sharp flick, sending all the library books shooting off the table and back to their homes on the shelves. "There. You're finished. Care to give me your full attention?"

          "I hadn't de-wormed those books yet!" Harry snapped at him, furious that he'd gone to the trouble of finding all those infected books and now he'd have to search for them all over again tomorrow. At this rate, he'd have detention well into next year.

          "My problem first," Snape said, scooting his chair closer to Harry's. He looked around to see if anyone was nearby, but Madam Pince was nowhere in sight and all the students had already gone to supper. Satisfied that they were alone, Snape placed his wand on the table and picked up the stack of letters, waving it in Harry's face. "These are your fault, Potter. I'm in this mess because a spell that was meant to hit you hit me instead."

          "I didn't ask you to save me!"

          "Well, I didn't ask you to save me either, but you did it anyway, which makes this doubly your fault. If I'd died like I was supposed to, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

          "Most people would be happy to be alive."

          "Most people aren't being badgered by 80-year-old witches who feel the need to include nude photographs with their pornographic propositions!" Snape said, slamming the letters down on the table. He invaded the scant personal space Harry had left and grabbed Harry by the back of the neck, bringing their faces close together. "You owe me, Potter. I want compensation, and you're going to give it to me."

          Harry hoped his expression didn't betray the excitement he felt at hearing Snape's demand, which was vague enough that Harry could imagine all sorts of things that Snape might want from him -- things he'd be all too willing to give him. He kept his gaze focused on Snape's nose so he wouldn't lose himself in those dark, arresting eyes. "What exactly do you want me to do?

          "I want you to date me."

          "You want me to _what_?"

          "Date. Me." Snape enunciated each word carefully, waiting for Harry's bewildered response of, " _Oh_ ," before he explained the reasoning behind his request. "If the wizarding world believes that I'm dating you, _the_ Harry Potter, then it's less likely that these witless fans of mine will think they stand a chance with me." A mocking smile spread across Snape's face. "Who in their right mind would compete against the wizarding world's Golden Boy in matters of the heart? Once the papers get wind of our romance, no one with half a brain will want to be known as the scheming witch or wizard who tried to steal away the love of Harry Potter's life. Imagine the jinxes and the hexes that person would face! I've thought about this long and hard, Potter, and it's the best solution to my problem."

          "Won't people think this is all a little ... sudden? Everyone believes that you've lost your memory, which technically makes us strangers."

          "A stranger who sat at my bedside for hours on end, who nursed me back to health and brought me comfort at a time when my whole world was turned upside down. It's only natural that I've fallen for you ... at least, that's what the papers will say. I should know, I've given them a brief interview on the subject."

          Harry narrowed his eyes. "You already told them that we're in a relationship?" He shrugged off Snape's hand and stood up. "No, I'm not doing this. Write a letter to whoever interviewed you and tell them you were delusional when you talked to them the first time. I won't be your decoy just because you can't be bothered to deal with people like any other normal human being."

          Snape grabbed the bottom of Harry's shirt to keep him from leaving. "Have you forgotten that your freedom depends on my silence?"

          "Have you forgotten that you can't stand me? What makes you think we could pull this off?"

_"Your_ acting skills may be atrocious, but I've made an art out of deception. I could convince the wizarding world I was in love with Longbottom if I had to ..."

          "It's too much to ask ..."

          "You were willing to bond yourself to me but you won't pretend to be my boyfriend for the rest of the school year?"

           Harry stiffened. Those were two entirely different things, but he couldn't explain that to Snape without making a major confession about his feelings for him. Snape took Harry's silence as a signal for him to press his case.

          "This isn't just about the lunatics sending me letters. Dating you will also keep these starry-eyed students off my back. That Weasley girl _winked_ at me as I passed her in the hallway." Snape shuddered. "She didn't seem fazed by the look of absolute loathing I gave her, and from what I remember of how teenage girls think, a personality like mine coupled with my new social status will make me seem charmingly aloof and irresistibly unattainable. I'll be deluged with little presents and notes passed during class and love potions and --"

          "I see your point," Harry cut him off with a grin. Snape's assessment of the situation was probably spot-on, but it amused Harry to hear Snape sounding so matter-of-fact about his role as Hogwarts' next teen heartthrob. "Well, publicly dating a boy might not be quite the deterrent you would expect it to be, but I suppose most of the girls will choose to admire you from afar rather than actively pursue you. No guarantees about Ginny, though. She's frightfully hard-headed about things like this ..."

          Snape kept a firm grip on Harry's shirt. "Does this mean you'll be a good boy and play along?"

_This is crazy_ , Harry thought, but he couldn't deny that the prospect appealed to him. He would have an excuse to spend time with Snape, and then there was the kissing ... but it was dangerous to leap blindly into a fake romance with Snape when Harry's feelings were all too real. Luckily for Snape, Harry had a history of ignoring all those pesky warnings in his brain when he was about to do something reckless. "I'll play along, but don't expect me to be good at this. I've been too busy foiling attempts on my life to actually date anyone."

          "I'm not worried," Snape said. He relaxed his hold on Harry's shirt but didn't let him go. "You are a 'quick study,' after all."

_Definitely nothing wrong with his memory_ , Harry grumbled to himself. To Snape, he said, "Are you sure want to take yourself off the market? You might decide that you like someone here at the school." In fact, that was one of Harry's biggest worries.

          "Mulgrew from Hufflepuff is attractive, I suppose,” he gave Harry a shrewd glance, having named the very same Sixth Year who seemed to be stuck on Harry, “but he couldn't brew a potion to save his life and I require at least a modicum of intelligence when selecting a partner."

          "This is dating we're talking about, not choosing who to sit by in Potions class."

          "Anyway, these were my students, Potter," Snape said, ignoring the critique of his dating criteria. "The idea of dating any of them gives me hives."

          "I hate to point out the obvious, but --"

          "If you hate it so much, don't do it."

          "I'm only saying, I was a student of yours too. And we didn't exactly get along ..."

          "Irrelevant." Snape wasn't about to admit to a flaw in his logic.

          "But if there's any chance you might have an allergic reaction to dating me --"

          "I kissed you without going into anaphylactic shock. I think you pass the test. However ..." He suddenly slid his fingers underneath the hem of Harry's shirt, caressing the flat planes of his stomach. "... I could always audition you for the role, if you like."

          A squeak of surprise prevented Harry from answering. He looked up to see Ron standing a few feet away, eyes wide in shock. Harry tried to back out of Snape's reach but Snape snaked his arm around Harry's waist, holding him in place.

          "Did you want something?" Snape's voice was cold with contempt.

          Ron flinched, something uncertain and childlike flaring into his eyes before he shook his head 'no' and walked away. Harry stared after him in confusion.

          Snape, too, watched Ron as he left, but in a cold, calculated way. "Tell me, Potter, have you noticed anything different about Weasley? I'm not talking about recently, since anyone would be a little spooked after the attack on the castle, but has anything strange happened in the past few weeks?"

          Harry frowned and tried to think if anything out of the ordinary had happened that might have affected Ron. "Not really. He got himself separated from our group in Hogsmeade during the last outing -- that was just a week ago. We found him wandering around out by the Shrieking Shack, a little disoriented, but Hermione blamed that on the Firewhiskey that Seamus had been passing around the common room right before we left the school. Ron even joked about it later, said he had kept wondering why Hermione hadn't nagged at him even once during the entire trip."

          "Hmm." Snape stroked his hand up and down Harry's back, giving every indication of being lost in thought and unaware of the intimate gesture, but then he brought his hand around to the front of Harry's trousers and pulled, drawing Harry in between his legs. "Back to your audition ..."

          "Not that again." Harry tried to sound irritated.

          "Don't be coy, Potter. I know you've been wanting _that again_ ever since I first kissed you in the hospital wing. It was written all over your face." He took hold of Harry's upper arms and brought him in closer. "Just consider this training for when we have to convince the school that we're serious."

          He cupped the back of Harry's head to guide him down into another kiss, this time barely brushing their lips together, teasing Harry, drawing him in with gentle nibbles and the promise of something more. Harry steadied himself by placing his hands on the armrests of Snape's chair, taking the initiative when Snape persisted in his feather-light caresses by diving in for a solid kiss, pressing his mouth to Snape's with more passion than skill, but then Snape kissed him back, tilting Harry's head so that the angles of their mouths matched perfectly. He instructed Harry in the art of weaving back and forth between hot, hard kisses where it felt like he'd never want to breathe again, and the lingering, sensual kisses where their tongues entwined and Snape tasted his fill of Harry's mouth, wringing out a low, needy moan from deep in Harry's throat. Somehow, Snape manoeuvred Harry into his lap, one hand clasped on Harry's hip and the other fisted in his hair as he made Harry moan again and again with the intensity of his kisses. Harry's fantasy of being the boy in the photo had come true, and it was even better than he'd imagined it to be.

          "Boys!"

          Harry jerked back and would have fallen out of Snape's lap and onto the floor if Snape hadn't wrapped his arms around Harry's middle to catch him.

          Madam Pince glared at them, her arms full of books to be put away. "I suggest you two go elsewhere if you are going to continue on like this. Be thankful that I'm not reporting you to the Headmaster for inappropriate behaviour."

          "Yes, ma'am," Harry said as he climbed out of Snape's lap.

          Snape rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like _goody-two-shoes_. He waited until Madam Pince walked away before he stood up and used his wand to banish the stack of letters on the table.

          "Time to eat, then?" he asked Harry, acting as if nothing had happened.

          "I ... I suppose ..." Harry was starting to think that this entire 'boyfriend' business was actually part of Snape's evil plan to drive Harry insane. If so, it was working beautifully.

          Snape held out his hand expectantly. "Well?"

          "Well what?"

          "Aren't you going to hold my hand?"

          Harry burst out laughing. "What?"

          Snape huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I may be a bit rusty at being a teenager, but I _know_ I've seen all those lovesick brats that I used to teach holding hands in the hallway. Now, give me your hand."

          Harry self-consciously rubbed his own clammy hand on his trousers, reluctant to comply. Kissing, holding hands ... if he wasn't careful, he'd start to take this relationship seriously. Could he afford to let himself get swept up in Snape's performance?

          "Don't be such a baby, Potter," Snape said impatiently, and he reached for Harry's hand, grasping it firmly in his own before leading Harry out of the library and off to the Great Hall.

          Their late arrival to the meal ensured that all eyes would be on them as they walked into the room hand in hand, a fact that was not lost on Harry. Snape garnered his fair share of stares, some wary, some admiring, as he made his first real public appearance since Voldemort's spell de-aged him, but the Gryffindor table seemed more interested in the puzzling sight of Snape holding Harry's hand. Even the teachers' table erupted into speculation over the twosome, but Dumbledore didn't look surprised in the least. He stood up and motioned with his hands for the room to quiet down.

          "Students, faculty, may I have your attention for one moment, please?" The din of chattering students died to a low murmur as everyone waited for Dumbledore to continue. "I would like you to welcome a new student to the Seventh Year class. Severus, please come forward."

          A dead silence filled the room as Snape left Harry's side and walked to the front of the room where Hagrid was placing a stool at the head of the tables, much as he did on the first night of each school year.

          "Severus Snape is known to you all, of course, but circumstances have dictated that he return to Hogwarts as a student to ... _ahem_ , complete his schooling. As such, we will be conducting one of our shortest Sorting ceremonies as the Sorting Hat determines which house Mr. Snape will grace with his considerable talents."

          The Slytherin table let out a cheer, certain that they were about to welcome one of their own back into the fold, but otherwise the room remained silent. Harry found it all very surreal, and no doubt the other students felt the same way. Why were they bothering to sort Snape again? Where else would he go but into Slytherin?

          Snape sat down on the stool and waited for Professor McGonagall to place the Sorting Hat on his head. Harry looked away, anticipating an instantaneous shout of "Slytherin!" -- but it never came. He looked back at Snape and saw that his hands were clenched tightly on the brim of the hat, keeping it firmly in place while the seconds turned to minutes. The two seemed to be having a very heated debate judging from what Harry could see of Snape's body language and the way the hat strained and stretched against Snape's grip. Whatever their argument concerned, it looked like Snape was winning.

          "Yes, yes, do what you want then," the hat finally relented, concluding his surrender with a cry of, "Gryffindor!"

          Harry's mouth dropped open.

          "I don't believe it," he heard someone say. "Snape ... in _Gryffindor_?"

          McGonagall snatched the Sorting Hat away from Snape and made a pointed gesture for him to join the Gryffindor table, looking none too pleased by this turn of events. Echoing her sentiments were the Gryffindor students who had suffered from Snape's blatant Slytherin favouritism.

          "It's like You-Know-Who suddenly decided to become a Muggle," Dean said as Harry walked past him, his apt comparison sending the surrounding Gryffindors into a fit of nervous laughter.

_He did it because of me_. Harry knew without a doubt that Snape had badgered and bullied the Sorting Hat into placing him in Gryffindor so he could stay close to Harry, but why? So he could continue to torment him with soft kisses one minute and cold indifference the next? Was this part of Snape's revenge for the bond that Harry had forced on him? He'd saved the man's life, for Merlin's sake! Didn't that count for anything? Sure, he'd used the magical equivalent of rape to do it, but he hadn't known that at the time! And if it wasn't for revenge, what other reason could there possibly be? They didn't need to be in the same house to make everyone believe they were together, so why did Snape feel the need to make the switch?

          Harry headed for an empty seat next to Ron so he could break the news of his relationship as gently as possible, but Snape caught up with him and grabbed his hand, dragging him down to the far end of the table instead. He sat down in an empty space and pulled Harry down along with him, giving him no choice but to comply if he didn't want to make a scene. Snape picked up the glass sitting in front of Harry, examined it, then tapped it with his wand, turning it a dark red colour.

          "From now on, you only drink out of glasses that I've checked personally," Snape said, returning Harry's glass just as it filled to the brim with pumpkin juice. "The red colour means it's safe. If it turns blue or black, don't drink from it."

          "How adorably paranoid of you," Harry cooed, determined to make Snape as uncomfortable with their fake relationship as he was, "and how sweet of you to try and protect me."

          The look of distaste that crossed Snape's face assured Harry that he was doing a first-class job of turning Snape's stomach with his saccharine tone, but he regretted his brief taste of victory when Snape executed a sneak attack, pulling Harry in for a quick, aggressive kiss.

          "Anything for my Harry," he murmured, stroking Harry's bottom lip with the pad of his thumb before he turned and picked up his silverware, diving into his meal with a gusto that rivalled Ron at his hungriest.

          Harry shivered, deeply affected by both the words and the kiss, but after the euphoria came the hollow reminder that it wasn't real. He looked down at his plate, absently moving his food around with his fork. _When he says it like that, I almost believe him._

          They ate without speaking for several minutes. Harry was the first to break the silence.

          "The sorting, getting into Gryffindor ... that was all because of me, wasn't it?"

          Snape scoffed and dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter. "Look, Potter, not everything is about you." He paused, frowned, then continued on, "Well, in this case, it _is_ about you, but just don't get into the habit of _expecting_ it to always be about you. No one likes an egomaniac."

          "No one likes a sadistic bastard, either, but you're starting to grow on me," Harry said, stabbing his food with his fork.

          Snape snorted. " _Grow_ on you? I think we're beyond that point, don't you? After all, I'm not the one who got us thrown out of the library for moaning too loudly."

          "Hey!" Harry clapped his hand over Snape's mouth, mindful of the wide-eyed stares of the First Years that sat across from them. He leaned in close, hissing in Snape's ear, "Could you please stop saying things like that? I've agreed to do what you want, but can't you be a little more discreet?"

          Snape waited until Harry took his hand away before flashing him a wicked smile. Only Snape could turn a friendly expression into a threat. He slid his hand around Harry's waist and leaned in the rest of the way, his lips practically touching Harry's ear. "Only good boys get rewarded. I'll behave in public, as long as you behave ... well, everywhere else."

          "Pervert," Harry said, pushing him away, though it was the last thing he really wanted to do.

          "Why do you insist on ruining my fun? I'm just a perfectly normal _teenage_ boy with perfectly normal _teenage_ hormones," Snape said with a smirk, but he didn't touch Harry again for the rest of the meal.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

     Snape wasn't welcomed into his new House with open arms. He'd spent his entire teaching career making enemies of Gryffindors, and this forced truce didn't sit well with the majority of them. True, the sharp-tongued Potions professor was gone now, replaced by a shaggy-haired, apathetic teenager, but the memory of his tyranny was still fresh in all their minds, so they kept their distance when Snape walked into the common room at Harry's side.

     To his credit, Snape paid no heed to his outsider status, treating his stay in the Gryffindor tower as if he were spending a holiday with family members he didn't necessarily like, but had learned to tolerate. He held tightly to Harry's hand, having captured it again the instant they left the Great Hall, and if the curious, sometimes hostile, stares he and Harry were receiving bothered him, he didn't show it in his face. He remained calm and unreadable, though he did position Harry in front of him like a shield when Ginny came towards him with a wave and a smile, and he continued to use Harry as a barrier between them until Ginny gave up trying to talk to him and went back to chatting with her friends.

     Hermione and Ron weren't as easily rebuffed.

     “Harry, why didn't you tell us that you and Snape were – ” Hermione didn't seem to know how to finish her own sentence, gesturing first at Snape, then at Harry, then crossing her arms over her chest and pinning Harry with a stern gaze. “Anyway, you should have told us.”

     “We're not really – ” Harry almost bit his tongue when Snape elbowed him mid-sentence, and he quickly changed course, “Actually, it just sort of … happened … today in the library, so I couldn't have told you any sooner.”

     “But it's _Snape_ ,” Ron said bluntly, not bothering to hide his disgust as he glared at Harry. “Are you saying you've fancied Snape all this time and never said anything?”

     “What's wrong with Potter fancying me?” Snape asked coldly, saving Harry from having to make any mortifying confessions.

     “What's _right_ about it? Especially after the way you treated him … the way you treated all of us!”

     “He's not Professor Snape any more, Ron,” Hermione reminded him, injecting some much-needed calm logic into the conversation. “He doesn't remember any of that, and it isn't fair to judge him by who he used to be.”

     Snape seemed just as surprised as Ron and Harry by Hermione's defence of him, but he quickly twisted that astonishment into a wounded expression, smoothly conforming to Hermoine's description of him as a time-loss victim who should be pitied, not attacked.

     Unfortunately, Ron wasn't convinced.

     “Just because he looks different on the outside doesn't mean he's any different on the inside. Some people are just born rotten.”

     “That's going too far – ” Harry tried to jump to Snape's defence himself, but Snape cut him off, stepping in front of Harry so that he alone would be the focus of Ron's anger.

     “I've heard worse things about myself from my own dad, so you can save your insults. You think I'm not good enough to date your friend? Well, that makes two of us, but he said yes and I'm not going to pass up my chance to be with him.”

     “But – ”

     “If you were _really_ his friend, you'd respect his choice.”

     Ron reeled back as if Snape had struck him, his expression stunned as he darted a look at Harry before turning on his heel and stomping away. Hermione gave Harry an apologetic glance before running after him, but Snape stopped Harry when he tried to follow.

     “Let them go. Granger will talk some sense into him.”

     “Can't I just explain it to them? They wouldn't say anything ...”

     “We're playing by my rules, Potter, remember?” A group of First Years walked by them and Snape pulled Harry back with him into a shadowy nook near the fireplace, drawing him into what would appear to be a casual embrace between boyfriends as he said softly, “This secret is just between you and me.”

     Harry shivered, that funny little ache in his chest sharpening briefly, only to be dulled by the warmth spreading through his body as Snape held him. He felt torn in two directions, wanting so much to just give in and indulge himself in this fake romance, but at the same time knowing how dangerous it would be to let himself fall too deeply into that role.

     He extracted himself from Snape's arms with a stilted laugh. “But it's not just us. You forgot about Dumbledore.”

     “ _Hmph_ , believe me, I haven't forgotten,” Snape grumbled, showing his first signs of genuine teenage petulance as he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, “but let's leave him out of this. Having Dumbledore be a part of this plan would make for a very unpleasant threesome, don't you think?”

     Harry grimaced. “What I think is that I never want to hear the the words 'Dumbledore' and 'threesome' in the same sentence ever again.”

     Snape laughed, and Harry marvelled again at the way Snape's face lit up with amusement, his sharp features softened by a playful expression that Harry had never thought possible from the sour-faced professor of the past. He wondered who else had seen that grin or heard that laugh, and if they'd known, as Harry did, how rare it was.

     “Now then, with Weasley and Granger out of the way, why don't you tell me the whole story about what happened the night of the attack.”

     “Even the parts you already know?”

     “All of it. There might be a detail or two we've overlooked.”

     Harry spent the rest of the evening sequestered in that nook with Snape, rehashing the events of the attack as Snape listened intently. It took two or three times hearing the same story before Snape was satisfied that Harry had told him everything, but he didn't volunteer any information of his own or offer any guesses as to how the enemy had invaded Hogwarts in the first place.

     “We should go to bed,” he told Harry after a long silence where he was deep in thought.

     “What.” The word left Harry's lips as a gasp rather than a question.

     “What do you mean, 'what'? Bed. The place where you sleep.”

     “Oh sure, bed.” Harry reeled his brain back in from the gutter and gave a nervous chuckle, but then the reality of the situation dawned on him: Snape was a Gryffindor. Snape was in the same year as Harry. A bed and cabinet had probably been added to the dormitory as soon as Snape was sorted.

 _This is bad_ , Harry thought. How was he going to sleep in the same room as Snape?

 

* * * * * *

 

     As it happened, he didn't sleep at all.

     Just changing into his pyjamas had been nerve-wracking, and that rush of adrenaline had never fully eased even after he'd crawled into bed. Harry had spent the entire night tossing and turning, well aware that Snape was sleeping only a few feet away, and now at breakfast he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. His only consolation was that a good night's sleep had put Ron in a more agreeable mood, and he and Hermione had sat on each side of Harry at the Gryffindor table, while Snape took a seat opposite them.

     Harry watched, bleary-eyed, as Snape wolfed down his second plate of food.

 _He's like a man possessed when it comes to eating_ , Harry thought with a tired smile. Maybe all those times that Snape had looked annoyed by his colleagues while sitting at the teachers' table had been because whoever was trying to talk to him was preventing him from enjoying his meal. It was a theory that Harry found strangely endearing …

     The air stirred around them, the flutter of wings signalling the arrival of the post, and Hedwig brought Harry a copy of the Daily Prophet and three letters – which was three more than he'd usually receive – but it was nothing compared to the bundle of cards and letters that dropped into Snape's lap. He didn't even look up from his plate as he tossed the bundle at Harry.

     “Take care of those, will you?”

     Harry frowned, holding the bundle at arm's length as a stomach-turning mix of several perfumes wafted up from the multi-coloured envelopes. “What am I supposed to do with them?”

     “Burn them, throw them away, turn them into bog roll – I don't care.”

     Harry wrinkled his nose at the last suggestion and banished them instead.

     “Look, Harry,” Ginny said, pointing at his copy of The Daily Prophet. “There's a story about you and Snape.”

 _I forgot that he'd talked to a reporter about us._ Harry unfolded the paper to get a good look at the article. The headline read: _**Hogwarts Hero Loses Memory but Gains Romance: How Severus Snape Won the Heart of the Boy Who Lived.**_

 _And there goes my last shred of pride_ , Harry thought as he re-folded the paper. “No one in their right mind would want to read about this.”

     “Speak for yourself, Harry,” Ginny said, snatching the paper away from him before he could banish it. Several of the Sixth Year girls gathered around her as they all read the article, occasionally 'ooh-ing' and 'ahh-ing' over whatever tale Snape had told the reporter. Judging from the sounds they made – and the starry-eyed glances they kept throwing at Harry – it must have been exceptionally mushy and romantic.

     “Did you really hold his hand while he slept?” Hermione asked him quietly, holding her paper in her lap so nobody else could see her reading it.

     Harry sighed. “Not you too, Hermione.”

     “I know, I'm sorry, but it's just so …”

     “Humiliating?”

     “... sweet.”

     Harry buried his face in his hands. _Sweet?!_ What exactly had Snape told that reporter? Did Harry even want to know?

     “It's a really beautiful story, Harry,” Hermione insisted, adding defensively, “and anyway, everyone else is reading it, so why can't I? I'm your friend, after all.”

 _Everyone else?_ Harry took one look around the Great Hall at the groups of students huddled around shared copies of the Daily Prophet and realized that Ginny and her friends weren't the only ones soaking in the details of his new relationship. And it didn't stop at Hogwarts – no doubt there were wizards and witches of all ages reading about Harry's love life in the comfort of their own homes now that Snape's version of how they started dating was a matter of public record.

     “Once again, my life becomes front page news.”

     “You'll get over it,” Snape said, not a trace of pity in his voice even though it was his fault that the story existed in the first place.

     Ron gave Snape a dark look. “Not so sweet now, are you?”

     Snape dropped his fork on his empty plate and wiped some crumbs of toast off of his mouth with the back of his hand, not exactly the picture of gallantry that the article described, but Harry's traitorous heart thumped faster all the same when those dark eyes looked up at him. “I just wanted everyone to know how we fell in love. Was I wrong to tell them?”

     There was a hush at the Gryffindor table as the other students waited to hear Harry's answer.

     “N-no,” he stammered, putting on a brave face even though he felt like crawling into a deep, dark hole and hiding there for the rest of the school year. _He said 'how we fell in love' ..._ Never mind that Snape was just playing a part – how did he have the confidence to say embarrassing things like that in front of the whole school? Harry took a deep breath and smiled, determined to put on a good performance, even if he didn't have Snape's skill at deception. He didn't need to act, anyway; he had the advantage of meaning every word he said. “No, it wasn't wrong, but you don't want them to know _everything_ , do you? Some things should remain just between us, remember?”

     Harry's implication that there might be even more to the story broke the silence, the Gryffindor table erupting into a steady buzz of speculation, and Harry was glad to leave them to it. Whatever scandalous situations they dreamed up would be more interesting than the truth, and as long as they were occupied by their own imaginations, they wouldn't be badgering Harry for answers.

     Snape looked like he had more to say, but Dumbledore walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

     “May I have a word with you, Mr. Snape?”

     Snape stood up with a weary sigh, his mouth tight with displeasure.

     “Wait for me so we can walk to class together,” he said to Harry, and then he followed Dumbledore out of the room, not giving Harry a chance to answer yes or no.

 _Well, might as well read my mail while he's gone_ , he thought, though he would have preferred to be a part of whatever discussion those two were having. Was it about the attack? Had there been any new developments? Harry didn't think it likely that Snape would tell him anything, even if he asked. As much as Snape said he wanted to keep things 'just between us' with Harry, it was obvious he also had some secrets that he only shared with Dumbledore.

     Harry tried very hard not to think of that as 'two-timing,' especially after Snape's 'threesome' comment the night before.

 _Don't even let your mind go there_ , he told himself as he went through the letters he'd received.

     The first letter was from a reporter asking for an interview – _Probably not the last one of these I'll get_ , Harry thought with a groan – and he quickly banished it. The second letter came from Mrs. Weasley, whose devotion to the pages of Witch Weekly were apparent in the way she wrote about Snape, reminding Harry to thank him properly for saving Harry's life – _She'll be sending letters every day once she reads about us dating_ , Harry thought with another, longer groan. Ron looked over at him, brows arched, but Harry didn't bother explaining as he tucked Mrs. Weasley's letter into his bag.

     The third letter was just one sentence long, hastily-scrawled on plain white parchment:

_**Give up Snape or you'll regret it.** _

_If I could give him up, I would have done it a long time ago_ , Harry thought – sans groan this time, though it welled up in his throat – as he folded up the letter and slid it back into its envelope, his expression kept carefully neutral. He casually looked around the room, wondering if it was a fellow student who had sent the threatening note, and he noticed that Keegan Mulgrew was staring at him from the Hufflepuff table. He ducked his head almost as soon as Harry looked at him, but there had been a flash of anger in his dark brown eyes. Harry turned back around just as Snape returned from talking with Dumbledore.

     “Thank Merlin that didn't take long,” Snape said as he sat back down at the table, but one look at Harry's eerily blank expression had him glancing around the table. “Which one of you broke Potter while I was gone?”

     “He doesn't look broken to me,” Hermione said, searching Harry's face for any signs that would point to Snape's diagnosis.

     “You aren't looking close enough.” Snape stared hard at Harry, as if he were one _Legilimens_ away from barging his way into Harry's brain to see what was troubling him, but Harry brushed it off with a laugh.

     “Just missed you while you were gone, is all,” he said as he shoved the note into his bag alongside Mrs. Weasley's letter. “Ready to go to class?”

     Snape's eyes narrowed but he stood up when Harry did and didn't press him for the truth.

     “Wait, we're coming too,” Ron said, taking one last drink before hopping up from the table, leaving a flustered Hermione to gather up her books and papers as she hurried to join the three boys.

     Harry was relieved to have the company – Snape might have interrogated him all the way to class if they'd been alone, and Harry didn't think the note was worth mentioning. He'd faced down Voldemort – surely he could deal with one of Snape's jealous fans.

 

* * * * * *

 

     Snape adjusted to life as a student seamlessly. He answered the questions that stumped everyone else – even Hermione, much to her dismay – and unlike most of his peers, he didn't hesitate to ask questions of his own, leading to new discussions that were interesting and informative, though some of the professors lamented that they were unable to cover everything they'd planned to teach during class after one of Snape's questions had led them to deviate wildly from the topic at hand.

     “Professors like questions,” Snape said as he and Harry walked to Potions after lunch. “It lets them know someone is actually listening to all that drivel coming out of their mouths.”

     “I don't recall you being fond of questions,” Harry said.

     “That's because I wasn't talking drivel. I told you everything you needed to know as succinctly as possible. If you didn't catch on the first time, that wasn't my fault.”

     “Hmm,” was Harry's non-committal response.

     "I have the suspicion that you don't agree.” Snape grabbed Harry's hand in retaliation – all day he'd been as physically affectionate towards Harry as decency allowed, even kissing him once in the hallway after Harry suggested that maybe they didn't need to be joined at the hip for people to believe they were a couple. He'd kept his suggestions to himself after that, if only to spare himself the discomfort of tight trousers. His only break came at lunchtime, when food had kept Snape too busy to bother about Harry, but now it was business as usual as they headed to Potions, a class Harry had dreaded all day because they shared it with the Slytherins.

     He freed his hand the minute they were inside the Potions classroom, looking around for Ron to see if he wanted to sit together this time, but Snape took him by the arm and pulled him over to a desk near the front.

     “Do we have to sit together in every class?”

     “Who else do you suggest I sit by? A Gryffindor who hates me or a Slytherin who hates me?”

     “Well ...”

     “You can sit with me, Severus,” Draco said as he claimed a seat not far from them. Harry had expected some problems in this class knowing that they were paired with the Slytherins, but he hadn't been prepared to hear Draco talking to Snape as if they were best friends. The other Slytherins might consider Snape a traitor to his former House, but apparently Draco didn't, and Harry found himself surprisingly irritated by this show of loyalty.

     Snape looked at Harry, shrugged, and started to get up, but Harry pulled him back down. “No, it's okay. We can sit together.”

     “Why the change of heart?” Snape asked as he took a worn textbook out of his bag.

     Harry didn't answer as he looked over his shoulder at Draco, his eyes narrowing when he saw the way Draco was smirking at him. He whipped his head back around and fumed silently, positive that Draco had more up his sleeve than just a kind offer to be Snape's desk-mate.

 _I'm really sick of that smug smile of his_ , he thought as Professor Barrett, the teacher that had been hired to replace Snape, started the class. Professor Barrett was a good-natured witch with an infectious smile and an endless amount of patience – the exact opposite of her predecessor. The potion she wanted them to make that day was a rejuvenation potion, and she provided each of them with a dying plant that they would test their potion on at the end of class. Snape dove in as soon as Professor Barrett finished giving her instructions, working quickly and methodically while the rest of the class struggled along. He finished preparing his ingredients in record time, and his cauldron was full of cheerfully bubbling potion long before Harry had even chopped his last piece of root.

     “I take it you were a Potions prodigy when you were seventeen,” Harry muttered, a bit depressed to see the disparity in their skill levels laid out so clearly.

     “I was certainly better than you lot.”

     “Yes, yes. We're awful, I know. You were always very careful to remind us of that every chance you got. What are you looking at?”

     Snape was staring at Ron with a familiar fury in his eyes, watching as he unceremoniously dumped his Valerian root into the cauldron and swirled it around with his wand.

     “Keep your eyes on your own potion,” Harry admonished him in a hushed voice.

     “But he's doing it all wrong,” Snape complained, his hands clenching into fists. “He didn't chop the root properly and now he's stirring it too fast – does he even _care_ that he's ruining that potion? Wait, wait ... why is he adding _that_? It's too soon to add that …”

     Snape was halfway out of his seat before Harry grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back down.

     “Are you daft? You're not the professor here. _Sit down_.”

     “Weasley was never my best student, but this goes beyond his usual level of incompetence. He must be doing it on purpose.”

     Harry snorted. Where was this paranoia coming from? Professional pride? Reverence for the 'sacred art' of potion-making? He never would have guessed that Snape's love of potion-making went so deep that it personally offended him when his students failed so spectacularly at it. Could it be possible that Snape's surly attitude as a professor hadn't been _entirely_ rooted in bitterness and spite?

     “He doesn't like you, but he wouldn't fail Potions just to annoy you.”

     “I suppose you're right,” Snape said reluctantly as he watched the potion in Ron's cauldron quickly turn to grey sludge. He seemed riveted by the sight, as if he'd stumbled upon a grisly crime scene and was horrified by what he'd discovered, but morbid curiosity prevented him from looking away. Harry tugged on his sleeve and Snape finally turned back to his own perfectly simmering potion with a sigh. “Still, I wish I could be the one to fail him and not Barrett. She won't enjoy it like I would.”

     Harry rolled his eyes. _I take it back – it was at least ninety-five percent bitterness and spite._

     At the end of class, they all tested their potions on the withered plants Professor Barrett had provided. Most of them were moderately successful, watching with relief as brown, shrunken leaves grew green and lush again, but Ron's crumbled into black ash.

     “It takes talent to turn a rejuvenation potion into weed-killer,” Snape muttered.

     Harry's plant fared well, producing several green buds, and Hermione could hardly contain her delight when one of the buds on her plant began to flower, but her triumph lasted only until Snape tested his potion and his plant burst immediately into full blossom, giving off a sweet scent that revived and refreshed everyone close enough to smell it.

     “Amazing! A flawless result,” Professor Barrett gushed. “And an impressive feat, considering it's your first time making this potion. Well done, Mr. Snape.”

     “Yes, congratulations on making this potion perfectly for the first time ever,” Harry said, his monotone delivery earning him a glare from Snape. He grinned and shrugged his shoulders, leaning in to whisper, “I'm a lousy actor, remember?”

     “Hmm,” Snape said, mirroring Harry's earlier non-committal response, but it sounded intimidating when it was coming from Snape. Harry could imagine all sorts of vengeful acts implied by that response.

     As the class was ending and everyone gathered their things together, Snape left their desk to pull Draco aside and talk to him quietly. Harry pretended he didn't care even as he strained to hear what they were saying, but he was too far away and Snape appeared to be taking great pains not to be overheard by anyone. Draco gestured once at Harry and Snape shook his head 'no,' which made Draco laugh and say the only thing Harry managed to hear out of the whole conversation:

     “That's going to blow up in your face.”

     Snape gave him a dirty look, then sighed and seemed to agree.

     They talked for a few more seconds before Draco left with Pansy, who had been waiting for him by the door. Snape walked back over to Harry and held out his hand expectantly.

     Harry threaded his fingers through Snape's without a fuss this time, resigned to these little shows of affection. The question of what Snape and Draco had been talking about burned inside of him.

     “Don't ask,” Snape said right as Harry opened his mouth, “because I'm not going to tell you.”

 _Exactly as I expected_ , Harry thought, content to leave it there for now, but Snape took his silence as a rebuke.

     “It's nothing to pout over.”

     “Who's pouting?”

     Snape side-eyed him.

     “I'm not pouting,” Harry said firmly, but then he had to make the conscious effort to suck in his lower lip when it threatened to stick out. The last thing he wanted to do was prove Snape right.

     Potions was the last class of the day, but Snape insisted on joining Harry in the library for his detention, settling himself in a chair opposite Harry then promptly ignoring him. Harry couldn't understand why Snape stuck so close to him, yet he acted like Harry didn't exist when they didn't have an audience … or when he wasn't entertaining himself by provoking Harry. He would answer if Harry asked him a question, and he did take enough notice of Harry that he could warn him when he was about to search for worms in a book he'd already cleaned out, but most of their time in the library was spent in silence.

     After a while, the exhaustion that had plagued Harry all day finally caught up with him, and he dozed off in the middle of de-worming a book on magical genealogies only to be jolted awake when the book was yanked out from under his cheek, his head hitting the table with a thump.

     “Ouch,” he said as he rubbed his cheek, his voice still slurred with sleep. “Was that really necessary?”

     Snape shoved the book back into its place on the shelf. His face was red – out of anger, Harry supposed – and his voice had a rough edge to it when he finally spoke. “If you're not going to work, we might as well go eat. I can't just spend all day watching you sleep.”

     Harry yawned and stretched, too knackered to argue. He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled over to Snape, taking his hand out of habit. “Let's go then.”

     Snape looked at their joined hands in surprise, but he didn't say anything, his lips compressing into a thin line as he quickly looked away. His fingers tightened around Harry's and he started walking, leading them through the stacks and to the entrance of the library where they saw Luna Lovegood emerging from an alcove, a sketchbook under her arm. For a moment it seemed like Snape would just keep walking, but Harry struck up a conversation with Luna before Snape could drag him away.

     “I wanted to do some sketches of fairies using Bumblee's Field Guide,” Luna explained when Harry asked her what she'd been doing, “but I couldn't persuade the pictures to stay still.”

     “A few minutes ago, you could have sketched Potter all you wanted,” Snape said with a smirk. “He sleeps like a stone.”

     Harry tried to think of a good retort, but he needn't have bothered – Snape's comment backfired on him by bringing Luna's attention on himself. Until that moment, she'd been focused entirely on Harry, but now she took a step closer to peer into both of their faces and tapped a finger against her lips, her eyes narrowed as she studied the new couple. “Something isn't right about this ...”

     Harry's heart sank. Was it that obvious that he and Snape didn't belong together? They'd fooled everyone else so far thanks to Snape's brilliant performance and that sappy article, but Luna had a knack for being insightful and seeing beyond the surface of things. An intuitive person like her wouldn't be fooled by a make-believe romance.

     “No, it's not right at all,” she repeated with a frustrated sigh, but instead of confronting Harry and Snape about their pretend relationship, Luna reached out and pulled their hands apart, moving Snape's arm so that it was draped casually over Harry's shoulders, then ruffling Harry's hair into just-rolled-out-of-bed disarray. She stepped back and gave her changes a critical once-over, then nodded.

     “Much better.”

     Harry was too confused to respond, but Snape took advantage of the rearrangement to hug Harry against his body. “I agree.”

     “Yes, your energies blend so much better this way,” Luna carried on, completely caught up in whatever colourful vision her interference had unveiled. “It's too intense when you're just holding hands – Snape's so icy blue and you're so fiery red that seeing you side by side is a little blinding – but when you're smooshed together like this everything goes all purple and melty. It's lovely.”

     “Hear that, Potter? We're _melty_.” Snape purred the last part into Harry's ear.

     “That's not even a real word,” Harry hissed, finally daring to look at him. Snape was grinning, a wicked glint in his dark eyes, clearly having the time of his life. Harry could only scowl his disapproval and hope Snape took the hint.

     “But why did you mess up Potter's hair?” Snape asked Luna, ignoring Harry's glare.

     Luna shook off her dreamy expression and replaced it with a shrewd smile. “It completes the picture, don't you think? Now he _really_ looks shagged.”

     Snape made a strangled sound in his throat, but he managed to keep his laughter bottled up under the heat of Harry's glare.

     “Well, I've done what I can,” Luna said, making a few little adjustments to Harry's hair and the collar of his shirt, like an artist putting the final touches on her masterpiece. When she was completely satisfied, she turned to Snape. “You're responsible for the upkeep.”

     Snape nodded gravely, though Harry could see he was struggling not to smile. “I won't let you down.”

     Luna smiled and waved goodbye to them, skipping off to the Great Hall with her sketchbook clutched against her chest, softly humming some upbeat song as she went.

     “I will never understand what goes on in her head,” Harry muttered as he combed his fingers through his hair, trying but failing to undo the damage Luna had done.

     “She's got a good eye,” Snape said, grasping Harry by the chin and turning his face this way and that as he examined it. “She took that sleepy, guilty expression of yours and gave it new meaning.”

     Harry felt his cheeks grow red under Snape's scrutiny.

     “Yes, very effective,” Snape murmured, falling silent for a moment as he stared at Harry, but then the devilish gleam was back in his eyes and he added, “though I'm sure I could improve on her results, given a chance.”

     Harry knocked his hand away. “I can mess up my own hair, thanks.”

     “Did I say I was going to use her methods?” Snape pulled Harry into a loose embrace. “I prefer to take a more … _natural_ approach.”

     “I prefer _no_ approach.” Harry pushed at Snape's shoulders, forcing some distance between their bodies so that Snape wouldn't find out just how excited Harry was to be in his arms. “This is a fake relationship and we only started dating yesterday. I don't need to look like I've been shagged, naturally or otherwise.”

     Snape arched a black brow. “Otherwise? You mean with toys?”

     “ _Toys_ ... what? No!” Harry broke out of Snape's embrace and turned to leave, only to be pulled back again, his back against Snape's chest. His only consolation was that Snape couldn't see his face anymore.

     “Well, I don't see how you can be shagged 'otherwise' without _some_ sort of penetrating object ...”

     “That isn't what I meant --”

     “-- unless you've got some tricks up your sleeve that I don't know about --”

     “Tricks? What tricks? There are _tricks_?”

     “-- in which case, shame on you for holding out on me, Potter.”

     “But I'm not – I mean, that isn't –” Harry sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Why do I bother talking to you?”

     “Of all the things you could be doing with your mouth right now, talking is certainly at the bottom of my list.”

     “Oh, so you want me to bite you?”

     “Potter!”

     Snape abruptly let go of Harry, causing him to stumble forward slightly. Confused, Harry looked over his shoulder to see Snape staring at him in mock horror.

     “ _Biting_? This early in our relationship? We only just started dating yesterday.” He shook his head at Harry reproachfully, making a tsk-ing sound as he walked past him.

     Harry had the urge to grab the nearest library book and lob it at Snape's head, but instead he pushed down his frustration and followed Snape out of the library, eager to get to the Great Hall where the conversations would be about innocent topics like Quidditch and classes, and where Snape would be too distracted by food to torment Harry with his sly innuendoes and his wandering hands. In fact, it was quickly becoming apparent that mealtimes were going to be Harry's only respite from the confusion and turmoil of the day, since Snape seemed determined to stay glued to his side at all times.

     They had only made it a few feet beyond the library when Snape suddenly whirled around, causing Harry to walk straight into him. He yanked Harry close, his lips against Harry's ear as he whispered, “Give it a week and I'll let you bite me whenever you want … _wherever_ you want.”

     Harry sucked in a breath, so dizzy from the sudden rush of desire that Snape's husky voice invoked in him that he had to clutch at Snape's shoulders for balance, but the moment was broken by Snape's laughter as he reached up to pat Harry's flushed cheeks.

     “There. That's the look. Lovegood's no match for me when it comes to making you look like _this_.”

     “Like what?”

     Snape smirked. “Like you _want_ to be shagged.”

     “Sod off,” Harry snapped, batting Snape's hands away in a show of annoyance.

     “Stop scowling, Potter, you're spoiling it,” Snape said, his smirk drooping into a disappointed frown as he mourned the loss of that wanton expression he'd conjured on Harry's face.

     Harry didn't stick around to give Snape a second chance at rekindling that look, going around him and walking down the hall. He needed to stop reacting to everything Snape said or did – though it was hard to ignore him when he was being so damn seductive – or else Snape would never stop teasing him.

     “I still say I could outdo Lovegood when it comes to the afterglow, too,” Snape said as he followed behind. “What do you say? Can't we give it a go? Come on, Potter, it's for _research_.”

     “I'm going to do some 'research' on jinxes if you don't shut up,” Harry said over his shoulder before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to give Snape a reaction.

 _I might have just given myself an impossible goal_ , he thought ruefully, but he was able to tune Snape out for the rest of the walk to the Great Hall, where he was allowed to joke and talk with his friends normally while Snape concentrated on his food.

     They spent the rest of the evening without further incident, always within a few feet of each other but rarely interacting other than a couple of embraces and a single kiss on the cheek that Snape deemed 'payment' for borrowing Harry's quill, all designed to keep up the illusion of intimacy between them.

 _And that's all it is: an illusion_ , Harry reminded himself as he crawled into bed that night, determined to forget that the guy he loved was sleeping only a few feet away so he could get some sleep of his own. Having spent the previous night wide awake, he drifted off almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, his new mantra echoing in his thoughts:

_Just an illusion ..._

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

     “I trust you both know why you're here.”

     Harry huffed loudly and crossed his arms over his chest, while Snape spared a bored glance at the Headmaster and shrugged a shoulder, as disinterested as Harry was apoplectic.

     “Public displays of affection are – ”

     Harry turned and glared at Snape. “I _told_ you Professor McGonagall was coming! I _told_ you to get your damn tongue out of my mouth before she – ”

     “Now, Harry, there is no need – ”

     “No, there is most certainly a _need_ for him to listen to me when I – ”

     “Listen to what? You don't make any sense, Potter. How could you tell me anything with my tongue in your mouth? If you mean those sounds you were making, I interpreted them as saying, ' _How did you manage to perfect the art of kissing?_ ' coupled with a request of ' _More, more, you sexy beast, more_.'”

     Harry could only manage a strangled squeak of fury.

     “On the other hand, that sound you made just now isn't fit to be translated.”

     Dumbledore sat back in his chair with a sigh and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “I only ask that you both exercise some … discretion.”

     “Yes, ' _exercises discretion_ ' – the number one trait of a modern teenager,” Snape countered in a low drawl, maintaining his overall air of indifference to the situation.

     “Would you prefer to be separated?” Dumbledore's voice had taken on a frosty edge.

     Snape's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, a spark of challenge in his eyes. “Would _you_ prefer us to be separated?”

     Harry felt like he was being forced to watch a father argue with his rebellious son, and by the conflicted look on Dumbledore's face, the son was winning. The Headmaster glanced at Harry, his expression clouded, but Snape saved him from answering.

     “I will restrain myself ...”

     Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

     “ … in public.”

     And there went his relief..

     “Are we allowed to leave now?” he asked wearily. They'd gone straight from breakfast to the Headmaster's office, and Harry didn't want to spend any more of his precious Saturday being chastised for something that hadn't even been his fault in the first place. Considering how touchy-feely Snape had been all week, it was amazing that they hadn't found themselves in the Headmaster's office before now.

     “You may leave, Harry, but I need to speak with Severus alone.”

     Harry paused halfway out of his chair. “Why?”

     “If he wanted you to know, he'd ask you to stay,” Snape said, his terse response tempered by an indulgent smile, his fingers curling around Harry's wrist as he added, “Be a good boy and wait for me so we can walk back together.”

     Harry's ire wasn't soothed by the smile. He jerked his hand away and left the office without another word.

_What do those two talk about when I'm not around?_ The likeliest answer was the attack on Hogwarts, but Harry didn't understand why he couldn't be part of the discussion if that was the case. He'd been forced into a central role in the war against Voldemort, so why should he be kept in the dark now?

     “And does he really have to gloat about it so much?” he muttered as he paced in the hall, annoyed by Snape's condescending tone whenever Harry dared to ask why he couldn't join in on their secret talks. Who did Snape think he was, telling Harry to wait like a 'good boy'?

_And that damn kiss …_

     The memory of Snape's lips claiming his own lit a fire in Harry's body, and he decided waiting for Snape would a horrible idea. Getting caught snogging in the hallway by McGonagall and sent to the Headmaster's office was enough humiliation for one day, and he didn't trust Snape's promise to hold back in public. The whole point of Snape kissing him was to prove to other people that they were a couple, so kissing in private was just –

     “Potter, watch out!”

     Harry whipped around, only to have a ball of dirt, leaves and flower petals slam into his stomach. It wasn't painful, most of the dirt crumbling the instant it hit him, but the shock of it had him bending over, hands on knees, to catch his breath. He was dimly aware that Peeves, the culprit behind the surprise attack, whirled and swooped overhead, laughing maniacally.

     “Get out of here, Peeves!” The voice that had tried to warn Harry now shouted over Peeves' laughter, and Harry looked up to see Mulgrew running towards him, a plant and several shards of pottery cradled against his chest. Peeves stuck out at his tongue at both of them and disappeared into the ceiling.

     Mulgrew made a sound of disgust before fixing his concerned gaze on Harry. “Are you hurt?”

     “Just a little winded,” Harry wheezed, tacking on a smile when Mulgrew looked unconvinced. “I've been hit by a lot worse.”

     “Yes, of course,” Mulgrew said, a light blush creeping over his cheek bones. He was a few inches shorter than Harry, and while not as thin or athletic, he was still far more fit than what might be expected from someone whom Hermione had once described as a “bookish, amateur herbologist” back when she'd had plans to play Cupid for the two boys. Harry had just thought of Mulgrew as “that cute blond Hufflepuff,” admiring him in a distant, if-things-were-different sort of way, but too wrapped up in his angst-ridden feelings for Snape to take Hermione's matchmaking scheme seriously. This was the first time he'd ever really talked to him other than exchanging greetings when they passed each other in the castle.

     Mulgrew squatted down, gently placing the plant and the broken pottery shards on the floor next to the lump of damp dirt, greyish leaves and wilted white petals that had struck Harry. He kept his brown eyes focused on his task, speaking hurriedly as he explained his part in Peeves' little 'prank'. “I was walking up a staircase when Peeves popped out a few steps above me, and he scared me into dropping my plant. He snatched up most of the dirt, so I chased him down to get it back but he'd already targeted you, and before I could stop him – ”

     “Splat?” Harry suggested with a laugh.

     Mulgrew glanced up, his lips twitching, but just as quickly he looked away, repeating softly, “Splat.”

     “Well, you did try to warn me. I just wasn't fast enough.” Harry crouched down beside him and used his wand to fix the broken pot, then sat back on his haunches as he watched Mulgrew painstakingly return the plant to its home. “Will it be okay? Peeves didn't end up killing it, did he?”

     “It's damaged, but it will survive.”

     “I know someone who can make an annoyingly perfect rejuvenation potion for you,” Harry offered, his lips curving into a fond smile at the memory, but then he caught himself and cleared his throat gruffly, “though I doubt he'd do it for free.”

     “You mean Snape, don't you?” Mulgrew swiped at the blond fringe obstructing his gaze, accidentally getting a piece of leaf caught in his hair. His dark brown eyes glinted with anger, and Harry realized he'd seen that same look on Mulgrew's face during breakfast at the beginning of the week. “No, thanks. I don't want him doing me any favors.”

     “Like I said, he wouldn't do it for free. It's not a favor if he puts a price on it,” Harry pressed on, hiding his disappointment at Mulgrew's reaction behind a good-natured grin. He could understand the hostility that other students felt towards Snape, but it bothered Harry when they were so open about it in front of him. He always felt driven to prove their assumptions wrong, even though he knew that Snape himself didn't really care. Maybe if Snape's potion helped Mulgrew, it would go a little way towards changing how he felt about him. “Or what if … well, what if _I_ ask him for it, and then pass it along to you? I'd make it for you myself, but I'm an amateur compared to Snape.”

     Mulgrew looked down at the plant, absently pressing his fingers into the potting soil as he considered Harry's words. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he finally mumbled a grudging, “If you want to ...”

_He's as stubborn as I am_ , Harry thought, and the realization was somehow endearing. He reached out and plucked the leaf from Mulgrew's hair, meaning to tease him about it, but the words died on his lips when Mulgrew trembled under that light touch. He caught Harry's wrist, red-faced and wide-eyed, a confused but hopeful expression on his face.

     “Are you and Snape really – ”

     “There you are.”

     Mulgrew let go of Harry's wrist as if he'd been burned.

     “And here I thought you'd left without me,” Snape said as he walked up behind Harry. Both Harry and Mulgrew stood up, the former feeling a little guilty that he'd actually planned on leaving Snape behind all along, but Snape didn't seem to be holding a grudge as he slid his arm around Harry's waist. He gave the other boy a perfunctory glance, spitting out a curt, “Who's your little friend?”

     Harry raised a brow, knowing full well that Snape hadn't forgotten who Mulgrew was, but he played along. “This is Keegan Mulgrew. He's a sixth year.”

     Snape continued with the charade of ignorance. “Which house? Ravenclaw?”

     “Hufflepuff,” Mulgrew corrected him, almost defiantly.

     Snape chuckled at Mulgrew's small show of bravado. “Ahh, I see.”

     “I was just helping Mulgrew with his plant,” Harry broke in, heading off the path their conversation was taking before it could veer into hostility. “Peeves thought it would be fun to steal some dirt from his pot and fling it at me.” He gestured at the front of his shirt.

     “Look at you, Potter.” Snape took in Harry's soiled shirt with amusement, though there was a flicker of something darker in his gaze when he twisted his fingers into the dirty material and drew Harry closer. “You're positively filthy.”

     Harry had to remind himself to keep breathing.

     “It's my fault,” Mulgrew said, reminding them both of his presence as he held up the re-potted plant. “Harry never would have gotten dirty if I hadn't dropped this.”

     Snape eyed the plant then looked back at Mulgrew, his eyes narrowing as he spoke in a dangerously soft voice, “Asphodel?”

     Mulgrew quailed under that intense stare, hugging the pot against his chest, but he gave Snape a clear, steady answer. “Yes. So?”

     “Interesting,” Snape said, still watching Mulgrew with that cool, calculating glare.

_Mulgrew might be a lost cause_ , Harry thought, mentally erasing his name from the list of students he thought he could win over to Snape's side. It was such a depressingly short list; it pained him to make it even shorter.

     “I have work to do.” Mulgrew turned on his heel and stalked off, only to turn and utter, as if remembering his manners, a sheepish, “Thanks for helping me, Potter.”

     Harry gave him an apologetic smile and a short wave, unaware of the way his innocent gesture caused Snape's shoulders to stiffen. When he thought Mulgrew was out of sight, Harry turned to Snape with a scowl, prepared to lecture him about scaring off potential allies, but instead he found himself shoved up against the wall as Snape kissed him long and hard, his fingers digging into Harry's hips. Harry tried to wiggle out from under him but Snape growled and deepened the kiss, unrelenting in his possession of Harry's mouth until Harry couldn't fight his own desire anymore, surging into the kiss with a moan. Satisfied that Harry wouldn't pull away, Snape broke the kiss, trailing his lips along Harry's jaw then nuzzling at his throat.

     “Your little friend is watching us,” he whispered into Harry's ear, one hand sliding up from Harry's hip to slip beneath the hem of his dirt-stained shirt. “Should I take you right here in front of him? Do you think he'd enjoy the show?”

     Harry gasped, both at the thought of being watched and at the wave of lust that Snape's wandering fingers stirred into life, his hand hot against Harry's skin as it skimmed over his stomach and curved around to his back. When Harry arched away from the wall to press himself closer to Snape, that hand delved below the waistband of Harry's trousers and squeezed his bottom through his boxers, forcing a soft cry from Harry's lips that made Snape chuckle.

     “Ahh, no, I think he's gone now,” he said, giving Harry's arse one last squeeze before pulling away, smoothing his dark hair back into place as he took in Harry's flushed, disheveled appearance with a calm smile. Harry started to wonder if Mulgrew had been watching after all, or if this was just another one of Snape's mind games.

     As if he'd read his thoughts, Snape brushed his thumb over Harry's lips. “These little displays are necessary if we want to convince the school that we're together, but you can't expect me to keep doing all the work, especially with Albus keeping an eye on us. You should at least refrain from flirting with other boys.”

     “I wasn't flirting,” Harry said with a return of his scowl, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, though the memory of Snape's kiss lingered, as always.

     “Hmm.” Snape fell back on the non-committal response they'd both come to use when they suspected the other of being not-quite-truthful.

     “I _wasn't_. Anyway, you're the one who called him 'attractive,' remember? I should be more worried about – ” Harry flinched and bit his lip. This was supposed to be a fake relationship, so why would it matter who Snape found attractive? _Think before you speak, Potter_. Confirming his very real feelings for Snape was the last thing he wanted to do. The now-familiar ache in his chest stirred to life as he pushed his way past Snape and started walking. “Let's just go back. I need to change my shirt.”

     “Wait, Potter.”

     Harry froze, his hands clenching into fists. What now? There was only so much teasing he could take. _If he kisses me again, I swear this time I'm really going to bite him … even if it hasn't been a full week yet ..._

     “I just remembered something I wanted to ask you about Weasley.”

     “About Ron?” Harry spun around. “What about him?”

     “Yesterday evening, while you and Granger were studying in the library, I happened to see Weasley talking to Pansy Parkinson.”

     Harry gave him a blank look. Pansy? Why would Ron even look twice at Pansy?

     Snape easily deduced the first conclusion to which Harry's mind would jump and did his best to reassure him. “They didn't seem happy to see each other, so I don't think he's cheating on Granger, but it was the first time I'd ever seen them have a conversation and I thought you might know something about it.”

     “No, I thought he was off with Dean and Seamus last night. That's what he told Hermione.”

     “It might have been a coincidence,” Snape said with a shrug. “It's not unusual for students to run into each other in the halls. Maybe Weasley _literally_ bumped into Parkinson – it would explain that ' _You're so beneath me_ ' look she had on her face. Forget I said anything.”

     “Yeah, sure,” Harry said, but his mind wouldn't let this new information go so easily, and he pondered it in silence all the way back to the tower.

 

* * * * *

 

     Back in the Gryffindor tower, Harry found himself sitting on his bed with a rare moment to himself. He was supposed to be changing his shirt, but Harry had his own secret he was holding back from Snape, and he wanted to take advantage of his time alone. He opened his school bag and pulled out four folded letters and one sealed envelope. The mysterious letter that Harry had received on the first morning that classes resumed had been followed by another the next morning, and then the next, delivered each day without fail and with no clue given as to the sender's identity.

     Unfolding the four letters he'd already opened, he spread them out on his bed in the order that they'd been sent:

_**Give up Snape or you'll regret it.** _

_**The way you hang all over him is disgusting.** _

_**He's only with you because you're famous.** _

_**What will you do when he gets tired of playing with you?** _

     Each letter contained only a single sentence, the taunts brief but maddeningly efficient – that last one had shot straight to the heart of Harry's insecurities when he'd read it – but other than the first warning that he'd “regret” not giving up Snape, there had been no actual threat made against Harry, so he continued to keep the letters a secret from his friends. He thought it was silly to make a big deal out of what amounted to a mild case of bullying.

     “Though I think I prefer bullies like Draco,” he muttered as he took the latest envelope out of his bag and tore it open, pulling out the letter. “At least he insults me to my face.”

     He spread out the piece of parchment and steeled himself for another snide remark, only to frown in confusion at what was written there:

_**He'll never be able to make you happy.** _

     It was such an abrupt shift in tone that Harry started to doubt that it was sent by the same person, but when he compared the parchment and the handwriting to the other letters, they appeared to match. Why, after four days of sending abusive one-liners, had his anonymous correspondent decided to show concern for Harry's happiness? If he added this letter to the others, Harry could even believe that his would-be bully was more interested in Harry than Snape after all.

     “Or maybe that's the trick.” He hated how paranoid he sounded second-guessing the sincerity behind eight simple words, but years of dealing with plots and deceptions had forced him to look at a situation from all angles. If this person pretended to have Harry's best interests at heart, it would make for a clever attempt at manipulating Harry into giving Snape up. But if Harry was the one with the secret admirer, then maybe all the earlier notes were penned out of jealousy, not spite. He wasn't sure which scenario made him more uncomfortable ...

     “What's keeping you, Potter?”

     Harry's head snapped up at the sound of Snape's voice from the doorway. He quickly shoved the letters into his bag and scooted off the bed.

     “I was just checking my homework to make sure I finished it all,” he said, aware that such a weak lie wouldn't fool Snape but unable to think of a more convincing excuse for why he was taking so long.

     “Hmm.” Again, that non-committal reply, implying that he didn't believe a word Harry was saying, but he didn't pursue the matter, choosing instead to nod his head at Harry's stained shirt. “You didn't change yet?

     “I was going to, but – ”

     “ – you needed some help?” Snape moved out of the doorway, advancing on Harry with the slow, deliberate pace of a cat stalking a mouse.

     “Don't be stupid,” Harry snapped, channeling that nervous flutter in his stomach into irritation. Anger was safe. Anger kept his defenses intact.

     Snape didn't stop until he was standing just in front of Harry, his dark gaze trailing slowly down Harry's body before he looked up with a mischievous grin. “I think you need my help.”

     “I _don't_ , I – ” Harry's frustrated protest was cut short when Snape grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, leaving Harry no choice but to raise his arms and let Snape tug it over his head. He watched as Snape balled up the shirt and tossed it aside, his dark gaze roaming over Harry's bare chest with a hunger that shot straight to Harry's groin.

     “I can dress myself,” he said, but his voice was soft and shaky.

     “Of course you can,” Snape said in a placating tone, gently resting his hands on Harry's shoulders.

     “So – so you can leave now.”

     Snape's hands drifted towards Harry's chest, only to slide over to grip his arms when Harry looked like he would bolt. “But you still need a clean shirt.”

     “I can't get one until you let go of me,” Harry pointed out with more exasperation than he really felt.

     “Something green would be nice,” Snape murmured absently, stroking his fingers up and down Harry's bare arms. “I like you in green.”

     “Typical Slytherin,” Harry said with a scornful laugh, desperate to hide his arousal.

     Snape smirked, his fingers tightening briefly around Harry's upper arms before he released him. “I'm anything but typical, Potter. You should know that by now.”

     He turned and walked to the doorway, pausing only to say in a much colder, professorial tone, “Hurry up and get some clothes on. The longer you dawdle up here, the longer I have to endure Weasley's pathetic attempts at intimidation.”

     “Or you could just try to get along with him,” Harry called after him as Snape left, a humorless grunt the only answer he received, and then he was alone again and free to let out that long, shuddering moan he'd been holding back. He buried his face in his hands, repeating over and over in his head all the reasons why it was dangerous for him to lower his guard around Snape. He winced at a particularly painful jolt in his chest that quickly dulled into the usual ache – he'd been suffering it for so long that he could ignore it as long as there were classes to focus on or friends to distract him, but sometimes it would flare up, the phantom pain of a bond that no longer existed.

     “Snap out of it, Potter. The day can only get better from here,” he said, trying to inject some cheer into his voice as he gave himself a pep talk. “First, you need to pick out a shirt.”

     In the end, he compromised on the color, choosing a green t-shirt but covering it with a long-sleeved plaid flannel in shades of brown, but when he arrived downstairs in the common room, Snape was nowhere in sight.

     “'Bout time you came down, Harry,” Ron said with a bright smile from his seat on one of the room's overstuffed sofas.

     Harry grinned and sat down next to him. “Sorry it took me so long. Where's Snape?”

     Ron's smile faded. “He said something about taking a walk to clear his head. I told him I'd be happy if he stayed away all day, but the nasty git made a point of saying he'd be back soon, like it was a threat.”

     Harry sighed, bracing himself for yet another lecture from Ron on why Harry should dump Snape as soon as possible. He didn't have long to wait …

     “You know why he's always hanging around you, don't you? He's using you to rewrite history. He was a nobody at this school the first time around, but now he's got you to make him look important.” Ron leaned in on the sofa they shared, a note of desperation in his voice. “You should dump him, Harry. He's no good for you. Tell him to go away.”

     Harry recoiled from his friend, inexplicably repulsed by Ron's twitchy energy and clingy manner. It was so different from Snape's air of entitlement as he stayed glued to Harry's side, giving off the impression that he was there because he _belonged_ there and he dared anyone to disagree. Not too long ago, Ron had been just as confident about where he stood with Harry, but these days he acted more like Harry's follower than his friend.

_I'm the worst_ , Harry thought, taking full blame for the deterioration of their friendship. Ron had a habit of closing off whenever Snape was around, and Snape was _always_ around, so Harry rarely had a moment alone with his best friend, and even when he did – like now – Ron would always use the opportunity to badmouth Snape, which only served to alienate Harry and put Ron in a foul mood. Harry missed the old Ron, missed joking with him and getting into trouble with him. He couldn't help but see how much Ron had changed – in the past, it was more likely for Ron to lose his temper with Harry in a disagreement than for him to run off with his tail tucked between his legs, as he was known to do these days – and it all seemed to have started as soon as Harry and Snape started 'dating'. With Hermione hitting the books harder than ever now that Snape was out-doing her in class, Harry was starting to feel like his fake relationship with Snape was the only one he could count on. He dreaded conversations like this one, if only because they were starting to feed into his own doubts about whether it was wise to be so dependent on a relationship that wasn't real.

     “I saw him talking to Malfoy yesterday,” Ron added, peering into Harry's eyes expectantly. If there was one subject Harry hated hearing about above all others, it was Draco's friendship with Snape. While other Slytherins had shunned Snape for 'jumping ship' to Gryffindor, Draco had stayed loyal to his former Head of House. He was the only person besides Harry to whom Snape would speak more than a few words, and their whispered conversations, though often conducted in Harry's view, never failed to raise his suspicions, and Ron knew it.

     This time, however, Harry had something to counter Ron's insinuation. “Snape says he saw you talking to Pansy Parkinson. Is that when you saw him talking with Malfoy?” He waited for the reasonable explanation that he was sure Ron would be able to give him.

     Ron opened his mouth then closed it, unable or unwilling to give Harry an answer. Instead, he lapsed into a silent sulk, resisting all of Harry's awkward attempts to talk to him about other things like Quidditch or classes, and then Snape was back and the opportunity to talk openly with Ron was lost, leaving Harry truly worried about Ron's strange behaviour but uncertain of how he should proceed.

 

* * * * * 

 

     "Stay away from him," was Snape's suggestion when Harry turned to him for advice.

     They were in the library, Snape writing an essay on the proper way to transplant a dryad from a dying tree to a healthy one without killing it, and Harry carrying out another day's worth of weeding out bookworms.

     "Thanks, you've been a big help," he grouched as he dumped an armful of books onto the table, sending a puff of dust into the air. "I knew I should have gone to Hermione instead."

     Snape paused in his writing and gave Harry a hard look. "I mean it, Potter. If you think something is seriously wrong with Weasley, it's likely to be true, and in that case I don't want you going anywhere near him."

     "He's my best friend. I can't just ignore him. Maybe I should tell Dumbledore ..."

     "No." Snape dropped his quill and grabbed Harry's wrist, his voice taking on that authoritative tone he once reserved for teaching Potions classes. "Don't bother Dumbledore with this. Weasley's probably just going through a phase – don't all teenagers go through phases? Give him some space and I'm sure he'll come around."

     "You just said something could be seriously wrong!"

     "What do I know? He's _your_ best friend."

     "Forget it, I'm going to talk to Hermione about this," Harry said, out of patience with Snape's habit of talking in circles whenever Harry wanted to discuss something important. He gave him the same run-around when Harry tried to discuss who might have initiated the attack on Hogwarts.

     Snape held tightly to Harry's wrist as he stood up from his chair, backing Harry up against one of the bookshelves. "I really think you should just leave it alone, Potter."

     Harry swallowed hard but stood his ground, well aware that Snape had a habit of getting physical whenever he wanted to distract Harry. So far he had a one-hundred percent success rate, but maybe this time Harry could beat the odds. "What if it gets worse? I've never seen Ron like --"

     -- _this_ , Harry thought, but the word never left his mouth as his lips were otherwise occupied by Snape. He pushed at Snape's shoulders to dislodge him, but Snape merely took both of Harry's hands and pinned them above his head. The kiss seemed to go on forever, Harry's resistance melting away under the skillful onslaught of Snape's lips and tongue, so that when Snape finally ended the kiss, Harry automatically leaned his head forward in pursuit of more, disappointed when Snape evaded him.

     "Feeling better?" Snape asked, a trifle smugly. He continued to pin Harry's hands against the bookshelf, leisurely rubbing up against his body and stirring his cock to life.

     Harry glared at him despite the pleasure he was feeling. "I'll feel better when you let go of me."

     "If you didn't like it," Snape rocked his hips forward teasingly, “you wouldn't get so excited.”

     "I'm gay. Of course I like it," Harry hissed, but his struggle to free his hands was half-hearted at best, and Snape had obviously seen right through his shallow resistance.

     "Oh, yes, I'm sure having Goyle or Crabbe thrusting up against you would get you this hard," Snape mocked him as he slid a hand between their bodies to cup Harry's erection through his trousers. "None of that 'any man will do' rubbish, Potter. We both know it doesn't work that way ..."

     He leaned in for another kiss but the soft, silvery sound of bells stopped him just shy of Harry's mouth. Snape sighed and bowed his head in frustration, then he let go of Harry and backed away with his hands in the air, like a criminal surrendering to his jailers. Harry turned to face the stacks to hide his erection just as Madam Pince came around the corner. She gave Snape and Harry a suspicious glance as she pulled a large, leather-bound tome off a nearby shelf then walked away, her footsteps receding into the distance followed by a second whisper of bells.

     "You know, there's an apt expression for a time like this ..." Snape mused as he sat back down to his essay.

     Harry didn't know what made him angrier -- the fact that Snape had set up wards to warn him of Pince's approach in advance, meaning he'd planned all along to corner Harry against the stacks, or the callous way he went from pawing Harry like a werewolf in heat to acting as if the whole thing never happened. The first he could grudgingly forgive, since the kiss had been spectacular and the imprisonment of his hands surprisingly thrilling, but Harry hated Snape's sudden shifts from hot to cold.

     He also hated being left with an erection and no way to relieve it.

     "I wish you'd choose a personality and stick with it," he grumbled as he picked up his pile of books and moved to another table. Let the jerk sit alone.

     "It got your mind off of Weasley, didn't it?"

     Harry glared at him. "Are you going to pounce on me every time I try to talk about a subject you don't like?"

     Snape looked up at him with a smirk. "That's not the worst idea you've ever had ..."

     "It wasn't my -- _you're_ the one who -- oh, sod it. Just don't talk to me for the rest of the day."

     Snape shrugged and went back to his homework.

_This is more serious than I imagined,_ Harry thought, panic warring with anger as he squashed a chubby black bookworm under his thumb. _He's definitely going to drive me crazy before this whole thing is over._

 

 


End file.
